


Star-Crossed

by OneWhoSitsWithTurtles



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Dream Sex, Dreams, M/M, Romance, San Francisco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-03
Updated: 2011-01-06
Packaged: 2017-10-11 10:46:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 137,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/111574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneWhoSitsWithTurtles/pseuds/OneWhoSitsWithTurtles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They are both new to dream work and they both have something to prove. Arthur is there to steal secrets; Eames is there to steal a persona. Unfortunately, they are each other's mark and they're both determined to succeed. Arthur/Eames</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day One: Arthur

**Author's Note:**

> **You can check out [here](http://onewhositswiththeturtles.tumblr.com/) to follow my Tumblr for info about me and story updates.**
> 
> Note: This is entirely pre-movie. And yes, you read 'novel' correctly. This will be a long, multi-chaptered story. Because it is so long I've tried to make each chapter like a mini story to keep it interesting, but they will be parts of a larger whole. And just as a pre-warning, the quality will probably be lacking a little bit just because I'm writing a full length novel in about 3 weeks.
> 
> The story is also being posted here: [link](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/6294661/1/Star_Crossed)
> 
> This story now has fanart, done by the talented issyapir/IssyKwan:  
> [link](http://issykwan.deviantart.com/#/d342hya)  
> [link](http://issykwan.deviantart.com/#/d36k971)

 

**Day One**

**   
_Arthur_   
**

**   
_   
_   
**

He pulled his suitcase along behind him over the intricate tile design of the lobby, off-white tiles creating circles and swirls that would require a bird’s eye view to be fully appreciated. As he crossed towards the front desk of the hotel, the wheels of his suitcase making tiny thudding noises as it passed over the tiles, he saw a few people look up at his passing. There were a few couches set up along his path, most likely so that people waiting to be served or to meet someone could be comfortable. A hotel this lavish would always hold their customer’s comfort as a high priority. And you knew you were in a nice hotel when the ground floor was merely used as an entrance and the actual hotel, including the front desk, could be found two floors up.

 

He watched out of the corner of his eye as people glanced up at him, but everyone looked away quickly. They were simply curious – no one to be concerned about. Finally, he stepped up to the front desk, a middle-aged woman greeting him with a warm smile. Arthur had to appreciate her obvious professionalism and poise, dressed smartly in black and looking like she was ready to hand a king his schedule for the day. When he glanced around quickly he noted that all of the hotel staff were dressed similarly, holding themselves with a similar air of professionalism. He loved high-end hotels for this.

 

“So I see that you have a room pre-booked for one week…Originally a suite facing the city but I see that there was a change made,” she paused as she skimmed over Arthur’s confirmation papers and then through the hotel computer system.

 

“Oh?” Arthur asked, trying not to panic. He could barely afford to stay at this hotel as it was. The only reason he was here was because of the job he had been given.

 

“Yes…There’s a note here saying that someone called to upgrade you to a Balcony King Suite on our Regency floor. The man left you a message… ‘I hope this helps you complete your job’. My, that’s a nice employer you have there,” she smiled up at him politely, taking note of Arthur’s stunned expression.

 

With nothing else to do, Arthur chuckled and tried to push away his surprise and nerves, “Absolutely.” He forced a smile, wondering how the hell he was supposed to pay for one of this high-end hotel’s best rooms, “So uh, credit card?”

 

“Oh, no your employer already paid for the room. You’ll simply have to pay for any extra charges at the end of your week, like if you use the bar or buy movies,” she explained, seeming to realize how out of place Arthur was. Not that it should have been surprising; not many twenty three year olds could afford staying in a place like this for a week.

 

Arthur appreciated the added help but was frustrated that he was acting so out of place. He forced himself back into a calm exterior and nodded politely, not showing how utterly stunned he was by the fact that his ‘employer’ was willing to pay for a $350-a-night room for an entire week. “Alright.”

 

The hostess was busy getting a key card made for him, handing the blue card that looked like a blank credit card across the desk to him along with his papers. “Alright, so you’ll be on our top floor in room 1731. Our Regency floor has added security for when we have dignitaries visiting, so when you get into the elevator you will need to slide this card into the slot before you will be able to select your floor.”

 

Arthur nodded, packing his papers carefully away in his shoulder bag and slipping his key card into his pocket. “Is there anything else?”

 

“Just one more thing; I’ll be back in just a moment,” the woman continued smiling as she left the desk to disappear into a back room. Arthur wondered briefly how straining it was, forcing yourself to smile all day at strangers who splurged more on a bottle of wine than you probably made in a week. He glanced around the lobby briefly while he waited, a few more people waiting in line now that it was getting to be later in the day. The woman returned, blond ringlets bouncing with each step. “Here you are; the hotel received this the same day as your employer called and he requested we give it to you when you arrived. Enjoy your stay in San Francisco and my name is Janet if you need any help.”

 

“Thank you,” Arthur smiled and took the offered letter, sealed away in a plain white envelope without a spot of ink on it. With one last polite nod at Janet he grasped his suitcase and began pulling it away from the front desk towards the elevators, letter stuffed carefully in his secure bag.

 

As he walked across the tiles he could not help but pause for a moment, taking in the grandeur of the hotel. The building was huge in itself, seventeen floors and plenty of rooms on each. As he looked up he saw that the entire interior of the hotel was hollowed out so that the hallway of each floor was actually a balcony that looked inwards onto the lobby, restaurant and bar. He could see a few people walking along, ducking in and out of rooms or glancing over the balcony to watch the people below like ants.

 

In the centre of the lobby there was a long water feature where you could sit beside a stream of running water, sunlight filtering in through the glass ceiling to sparkle on the water’s surface. The restaurant was closest to the front desk, furniture and setup looking just as extravagant as the rest of the hotel. The chairs looked comfortable and inviting and the food on the tables that he could see reminded him that he had not eaten in a long time.

 

But what really caught his attention was the cascade of lights hanging over the restaurant and bar. Seven layers of stringed lights hanging in a curtain from the balconies above, covering half the length of the entire hotel interior. Because of the seven layers of separated fairy lights it looked as if a waterfall of light was frozen just above the restaurant, bathing everything in a warm glow. He was half tempted to just take a seat at the restaurant now and gawk but reminded himself that he had an image to uphold.

 

Instead, he returned his attention to the elevators. There were five jumping between floors and Arthur was overwhelmed but not surprised that they held just as much intricate detail as the rest of the hotel. They were circular and entirely glass, allowing guests to watch the lobby while they traveled. The top and bottom of each elevator was glowing, lights hidden beneath the fogged glass material, and looking like a closed rose blossom _just_ beginning to open.

 

He stepped into an empty elevator and slipped his card into the slot to select his floor. As the elevator began its smooth ascent he moved over to the glass wall, allowing a moment of wonderment over the hotel since he was alone. He decided right then that someday he wanted to be rich enough to stay in places like this without batting an eyelash. And if this job went well he would have more than a foot in the door for that future.

 

This thought caused his stomach to clench with nerves, remembering how important this job was if he wanted to make a profession of dream work. Legal dream work required years of school, internships and training. Getting into that had not been a problem, but he quickly found that the ‘legal’ part of the profession made the jobs dull and monotonous, creativity and freedom cut out of the dreamscape. And really, what was the point in that?

 

Unfortunately, illegal dream work was both more dangerous and more challenging to get into. He had quickly discovered that the professionals were very cautious about who they dream shared with. He also learned that he had to be just as cautious and picky in return. It was difficult to find a match, and even when you did that didn’t bring immediate trust.

 

Arthur had been surprised and suspicious when his new employer approached him despite the fact that he seemed down to earth and friendly. It was difficult to trust a man who came out of nowhere and offered you everything you wanted. But since this was probably the best opportunity he’d ever receive, he had sat down and listened to what the man had to say.

 

The man had been in the process of attempting to pull together a permanent team, which was not unheard of but certainly not common in the profession. He already had an architect – who Arthur would meet if he joined the team – and was instead looking for a Point Man. He had explained to Arthur what this role entailed, not seeming to mind Arthur’s inexperience with the illegal side of the profession at that point.

 

As a Point Man his primary responsibility would be to research the mark and to bring as much information as he could to the team in order to make the dreamscape and the job successful. However, he would also be in charge of assessing situations to determine and overcome risks and keep every team member prepared and safe. Lastly, what Arthur had been so surprised by, he would be the unofficial second in the team. He would be required to take over the job if the leader was, for some reason, incapacitated. That meant Arthur had to have some skills in every field: extractor, architect, thief.

 

It was certainly a demanding role and the idea sat heavy in his stomach even as it made his heart rate pick up with excitement. He slipped out of the elevator to find his room, remembering the tests he had gone through, both in reality and in a dreamscape, to prove his worth to this man. He had been pleased when he seemed to impress the other man. He thought that he’d get the job for sure even if he still needed more practice since that would come with experience.

 

But then, instead of being welcomed onto the team, Arthur found himself shouldered with a solo job – his _first_ solo job in illegal dream work. His employer had explained that if he completed this job successfully he would be a fully fledged member of the team. This, of course, only mounted the pressure further beyond Arthur’s initial sense of being overwhelmed by the thought of a solo job.

 

Arthur’s thoughts paused as he stopped in a little alcove, reading 1731 in gold on the heavy looking door and slipping his card into the lock. Once he was in he threw the deadbolt closed and set his suitcase against a wall, looking around at his room. There was a large safe in the closet by the door which he immediately reset and slipped his laptop into. After that he stepped further in to see the bathroom, wide expanse of mirror and black marble counter while the shower looked almost comically large.

 

The room itself was huge and he could not quite understand why someone would need this much space. There was a large king sized bed covered in pillows and facing a wall of windows and his balcony. A television was settled on a dresser, the screen much larger than what Arthur owned at home. Further into the room there was a writing desk as well as two plush couches facing one another beside the windows.

 

He was drawn to the balcony, sliding the glass door open as he wondered if he would be able to see the Golden Gate Bridge from here. When he stepped out and stood against the railing, a damp breeze wrapping around him from the bay, he found that he was facing the wrong direction to see that famous landmark. However he was almost directly facing the San Francisco Bay and was able to see the main ferry building and another suspension bridge easily. He had never been to San Francisco before and was hoping that following the mark might actually provide him with an excuse to see some of the sights.

 

This thought returned his attention to his job and he entered his room again, leaving the door slightly ajar for some fresh air as he picked up his shoulder bag. He pulled out the unmarked envelope and tore it open carefully, feeling excited nerves dance through him as he unfolded the paper.

 

_Arthur,_

_A photograph of your mark is enclosed. His name is Eames and he will be staying in room 1730 next to you; this should help you keep track of him. I want you to collect as much information on this man as you can in your one week time period. Use every means available to you, legal or otherwise. When your week is up the hotel desk will have a plane ticket for you to come see me and share your results. _

_Best of luck._

 

Arthur raised an eyebrow and pulled out the photograph tucked between sheets of blank paper. As he held it under the lamplight he had to admit that the man was very attractive. He couldn’t have been much older than Arthur, maybe a few years at most. His hair was a light brown and seemed to be cut rather short, though it was just long enough for the wind in this photo to make a few strands stand on end. There was a thin layer of scruff covering the man’s strong jaw and face, which would have looked unkempt on Arthur but simply looked rugged on this man.

 

One thing that stood out in the photograph was the man’s eyes, which lit up with a blue green mix in the sunlight similar to an ocean. The man’s eyebrows were furrowed and his eyes were frozen, glancing down in apparent thought. But despite the somewhat conflicted look in the man’s eyes, the rest of his face looked soft to the touch and relaxed. His mark was dressed in a pair of jeans and an ugly looking shirt and Arthur could not help but wonder if he would be forced to look at shirts like that for an entire week.

 

He himself was in a neatly pressed suit, wearing what a hotel of this scale looked for. But despite that, he had always preferred wearing suits when on a job. Looking professional, confident and calm helped him feel the same. He stared at the photo for another long moment under the warm glow of the lamp before he slipped it, the letter, and his other important documentation into the safe beside his personalized laptop.

 

Arthur decided to have a quick shower and change into a fresh suit before heading back down to the lobby. He did not know when his mark would arrive so at the present moment his priority was finding food. Jetlag had never had a huge impact on him in terms of tiredness, but it always messed up his eating habits. He closed his door solidly behind him and looked over at room 1730 briefly before heading towards the elevators. There would be no point in knocking on the door since he always preferred the incognito method of information gathering.

 

It was still relatively early for dinner when he approached the hotel restaurant so there was no line in front of him. He requested a table along the edge of the lobby so that he would be able to keep an eye out for his mark, but otherwise allowed himself a moment of personal time to focus on food. The sun must have been close to setting outside by that point because the interior of the hotel was dimming. The only thing lighting up his table was the showering lights above him and he enjoyed the golden glow, feeling like he was sitting under a cluster of stars.

 

His dinner did not last long and he excused himself to travel the short distance along the hotel lobby to find a comfortable couch in the bar lounge area. He sunk into the dark red cushions with a tired sigh, making sure he could see the majority of the lobby from where he was sitting. He was able to watch the restaurant beside him, the elevators, the waiting area and the front desk.

 

A server came over and he ordered a light drink to begin with, not knowing how long he would have to remain here on lookout for his mark. He was eager to spot his mark tonight and maybe even learn a few things through observation so that he could begin utilizing the free internet in his room. The name his employer had provided him with was not very helpful so he was hoping to learn a bit more to pair with the name. Was Eames the man’s first name? Last name? Did he even have one of each? Arthur rolled his eyes and took a sip of his drink, returning his attention to the lobby.

 

There were a lot of children squealing and giggling in the lobby, dashing around by the water and under the shimmering curtain of lights in delight while their parents followed them in amused exasperation. It made sense that there were a lot of families here right now considering the fact that it was the middle of summer and the perfect time for a vacation. However, Arthur could not understand affording to bring children to a hotel like this. Wasn’t this the sort of place you checked into if you wanted a private weekend away? He shrugged to himself, knowing that his family’s financial situation was much different than other people and ordered a second drink.

 

Arthur was about halfway through his second drink when he saw Eames. He almost missed him at first because he was not expecting the man to be dressed up. But he noticed the face and broad shoulders as the man crossed the lobby and got a seat in the restaurant. From what Arthur could tell at a distance the other man had dressed up but had been somewhat reluctant to go all out. He was in dress pants and wore a nicely pressed collared shirt; though ironing did nothing to save the shirt from the fabric’s pattern. The top two buttons were undone though, lacking a tie and revealing his neck.

 

He remained where he was sitting and watched as the host seated the man at a lone table on the edge of the lobby. He saw Eames glance at the menu for a short time before setting it down and skimming his eyes around the vast hotel interior. What he was not expecting, however, was for Eames’s eyes to skim past him and flicker back. Arthur felt his back straighten slightly as the stranger stared at him, returning the stare confidently for just a moment before glancing away and drinking.

 

Arthur was relieved to see that the other man had stopped staring at him when he looked back up, seemingly engrossed in the free bread and then the main course when it arrived. He watched the other man quietly, suddenly feeling a little nervous but doing his best not to show it. A small handful of people in both business and casual attire were beginning to populate the lounge and bar, though no one took the seat opposite him.

 

He finished his second drink, glad he had decided to go lighter and drink slower as he felt the tiredness of jetlag begin. But just as he set his empty glass on the table between the two couches he saw feet approaching. He straightened in time to see his mark – Eames – sauntering towards him, each hand occupied by a drink. He allows himself one blink of surprise before his mask of calm indifference slipped onto his face and he looked up to meet those eyes up close.

 

He was not sure what to expect, but having Eames sit down beside him on the _same_ couch and slide a drink – the same kind he had just finished – along the table to him was certainly at the bottom of the list. Arthur looked down at the drink suspiciously for a moment, not liking how the situation had suddenly fallen out of his control. “I don’t accept drinks from strangers.”

 

The man beside him chuckled, “Then how do strangers have any hope of getting into those fancy pants of yours?”

 

“They _don’t_,” Arthur bit out harshly, hoping to deter the man. He knew that he should keep the man around just to learn more information – drunks loved to tell you everything – but at that moment he could only think of getting as far from this stranger as possible.

 

The other man seemed unfazed though and simply smirked, raising a hand to motion over another server to their couch. “Yes, another mojito for my friend, please? This time without the arsenic.” The server briefly looked like he was going to have a heart attack until Eames chuckled again and Arthur rolled his eyes. The poor server rushed away after one more nervous look between the two men and Arthur levelled a glare at the other man. “The name is Eames, by the way, and what should I be calling you?”

 

“Leaving,” Arthur spoke and stood from the couch quickly.

 

He felt warm fingers twine around his wrist insistently and stop his movements. He looked back down at the other man, furious to see Eames pouting and jutting his lip out like a five year old. “Forgive me, darling, I was just having a little fun. Sit with me a while?”

 

Arthur hovered for a moment, reminding himself that this was what he had been hoping for even though it had not happened the way he had planned. With a frustrated sigh he allowed that hand to pull him back down onto the couch before knocking it away. He slipped down into the cushions again, mentally debating with himself over whether telling the man his name was an intelligent move. A first name wouldn’t get him very far, especially if he was just trying to flirt. He took a long drink of his new mojito when the server brought it and set it down, “Arthur.”

 

“Pleasure to meet you, Arthur,” Eames held his glass up for a moment in a type of toast before taking a similarly long drink. “So what brings you to San Francisco?”

 

“Business,” Arthur answered casually, deciding to cradle his sweating glass in his hands to keep himself occupied.

 

“Do you always give one word answers?” Eames leaned closer, smirking.

 

Arthur leaned back, curling up against the armrest and as far from the other man as he could manage, “Yes.”

 

“It’ll be like playing Twenty-Questions then,” Eames smirked, apparently enjoying himself. “So what sort of business will you be doing?” Arthur remained silent and simply raised an eyebrow over the rim of his glass. “Oh, is that too open-ended? Alright, will you be in a lot of meetings?”

 

“No.”

 

“Are you here alone?” Eames raised and wiggled a suggestive eyebrow.

 

Arthur sighed and paused for a moment, “Yes.”

 

“No co-workers? No girlfriend?”

 

“No,” Arthur answered blandly.

 

“Have you ever been to San Francisco before?” Eames watched Arthur for a moment before tipping his glass back, draining the rest of his drink.

 

“No, this is my first time here,” Arthur spoke, getting tired of one word answers and glad to finally have a question that was safe to answer.

 

“Oh really?” Eames slid down the couch slightly, moving closer to him. Without many other options Arthur promptly stood up and moved to the opposite couch, glaring across the table at the other man. Eames watched him for a few moments across the table in amusement before continuing. “Well this is my first time here as well so what do you say we do some sightseeing together?”

 

“No,” Arthur retorted immediately, cautious and unsettled by his mark taking control of his situation.

 

“Come on, darling,” Eames pouted, elbows resting on knees and chin resting on hands. “I’m all alone here for a week with absolutely nothing to do.” Arthur had known that Eames would only be there for a week, which was what his deadline was based on. Of course, if the man got bored and left he would have a much shorter time to prove his worth in information gathering.

 

Arthur was about to refuse Eames’s offer again but took a moment to pause and consider the situation. He had been unprepared by his mark’s approach, shoving his plan out the window. But he realized that things did not often go exactly as you planned in the field and you had to learn to be flexible and work with what the situation gave you. So, forcing his discomfort aside in favour of professionalism, he mulled over the man’s offer.

 

 He was quite confident in his ability to pull up information on this man without any help. He would begin by working his way into the hotel computer system to get the critical information that would help narrow down his searches, making sure he was researching the right person. After he got that first stepping stone of information there was not much that could stop him and he would work through the internet and contacts.

 

He truly did not need to spend any time with the man in person in order to gain enough knowledge to impress his employer. Besides, this job was supposed to test how he would research on a job, in the field. And Arthur knew for certain that he would not go sightseeing with his mark every time he wanted to learn something about them for a job. It was entirely unprofessional and not realistic for the job or his future in this profession.

 

However...Arthur could not help but consider how impressed his employer would be if he came back with more information than could ever be dragged up through internet, files and contacts. There was a lot of information this man might divulge to him as a sightseeing partner – as a companion – that he or anyone else may never uncover on their own. True, it was unprofessional and not practical about how he would normally deal with a mark on a job. But this was his one ticket into this profession and he had to really show off. He had to collect so much information that the employer had no _choice_ but to hire him.

 

Arthur was determined to succeed, even if that meant sightseeing with his annoyingly flirtatious mark. Besides, he mentally reminded himself a little guiltily, this way he would be able to see the San Francisco sights while working. As he returned his attention to the present moment he realized that Eames was in the process of rambling out a list of reasons why Arthur should agree to sightsee with him. So before the man’s irritating personality could accidentally change his mind in the wrong direction again, Arthur spoke over him, “...Alright.”

 

“...And really, it’s just sad to say you—wait, really?” Eames stopped mid-sentence, finally noticing Arthur’s answer. Arthur rolled his eyes and nodded, picking up his forgotten drink again to finish it off. “Excellent! We’ll start bright and early tomorrow, darling!”

 

“Don’t call me that,” Arthur sent Eames a warning glare before setting his empty glass on the table, ice clinking together before he stood up. “I’m going to bed.”

 

“Can I call you pet?”

 

“No.”

 

“Dear?”

 

“No.”

 

“Sweetheart?”

 

“No.”

 

“Doll?”

 

“No.” By this point Eames had followed him across the emptying lobby and into the first elevator that showed up. Arthur was leaning his forehead against the cool glass, trying to distract himself away from his infuriating mark and his incoming headache by the dazzling wall of lights again.

 

“Kitten?” Eames continued on, giggling a little now. Arthur had not thought Eames had drunk enough to get tipsy, but one way or another… the man was clearly enjoying himself.

 

“No.”

 

Eames suddenly cleared his throat before continuing, “Hon? Honey?”

 

“No and no.”

 

“Sunshine? Wait no, your face looks too much like a thundercloud right now. How about ‘love’?”

 

They were out of the elevator now and were crossing the balcony hallway towards their rooms. Arthur was not concerned by the fact that Eames was following him since his employer had helped him by setting up their rooms beside one another. But suddenly that did not seem like such a blessing. He looked over his shoulder at the man trailing behind him, raising an eyebrow, “Why would you call a stranger that?”

 

Eames paused for a moment before shrugging, “It’s just a term of endearment.”

 

“But why would you use a term of endearment on a stranger?” Arthur clarified his question, genuinely confused as he stuffed his hands in his pockets to pull out his key card.

 

“Just fun to watch you get riled up, love,” Eames winked before sauntering away to the next door down the hall, room 1730.

 

With nothing more to be said, Arthur slipped his key in the lock and stepped into his room. He made sure that the door lock and deadbolt were both in place before he trudged over to the bed and collapsed on top of the covers. True, he was probably tired from the traveling more than anything else, but he was astounded by how exhausting a simple conversation with his mark could be.

 

Eventually he forced himself back into a sitting position, deciding that he needed to start collecting information with his normal methods. He changed out of his suit to keep it from getting wrinkled and hung it up beside his other suits in the closet before finding some clothes to sleep in. After that he closed all of his curtains and tiredly set up his laptop on the writing desk. He leaned back in his chair with a yawn while he waited for it to power up. Just then he heard a frantic knock at his door, nearly causing him to topple backwards in surprise.

 

He regained his balance hurriedly and pushed himself out of the chair curiously. Undoing the deadbolt and pulling open the door, Arthur was only mildly surprised to find Eames standing in the little alcove outside his door. “What do you want, Eames? It’s late.”

 

“It’s not late, pet. It’s not even ten thirty yet,” Eames held his wrist out for Arthur to see his watch, though Arthur merely rolled his eyes and ignored it.

 

“Yes, well some of us have jetlag,” Arthur rubbed his temples briefly, mentally praying for his headache to stay away.

 

Eames scoffed, “Jetlag? You want to talk about jetlag? I just flew here from London, and that’s England mate, not Canada.” This did not surprise Arthur based on the man’s accent, but it was nice to have some assumptions confirmed. However Eames continued loudly, “But time zones hold no power over me!”

 

Arthur hushed the man hurriedly, glancing out of the room nervously with the noise, “Be quiet; you’re in a fancy hotel here.” Eames just pouted and Arthur realized quite quickly that Eames seemed just as out-of-place in this lavish hotel as he was. He saw the other man place a solid hand on the wall and he raised an eyebrow, “Are you drunk?”

 

“Only slightly, love,” Eames smirked, taking a step forward. Arthur was considering closing the door on the man’s face when suddenly his mark pulled out a piece of paper, waving it around in his free hand, “I came here with a purpose.”

 

“Did you now?” Arthur drawled, eyes distracted by the mysterious sheet of paper.

 

“Yes. I came to give you this,” Eames set the paper in his hands and then stepped back slightly. “It’s a list of all the sights we can see in San Francisco. Your job is to rank them in order of what you want to see and slip it under my door so that I may plan our adventure. And I demand that the list be under my door before sunrise, you hear?” Eames pointed a threatening finger at him, though it wasn’t very effective with the following giggle.

 

“Alright, now go back to your own room,” Arthur began closing his door slowly, waiting for the other man to truly leave.

 

He saw Eames stuff his hands in his pockets, lazily at first and then more frantic, “Bollocks! I forgot my bloody key in my room.” Those blue green eyes turned on him and Arthur was quite sure he was being given the original puppy dog eyes, “Could you call room service for me?”

 

Arthur’s headache was fully fledged now and he was more than tempted to just slam his door closed and forget about having a mark until the morning. But this was a good opportunity to get this man owing him a favour…and he couldn’t just _leave_ him stranded out in the hallway. This hotel was very careful about making extra key cards and they would probably refuse to make Eames one without his identification…which was also locked in the room. So calling room service would make sense in that they would open the door and then Eames would be able to pay them once he was inside. “Fine.”

 

“Thanks, darling,” Eames grinned and slipped past Arthur into his room.

 

Arthur was about to protest the intrusion but then he felt a warm hand ghost down his arm as Eames entered the room; the priority of what to protest shifted, “Keep your hands to yourself and don’t touch anything.” He glared hotly at the other man, who simply shrugged his apology, before heading to his phone and trying to erase the lingering sensation.

 

He picked up the phone and punched in the number for room service, Eames plopping down on the edge of the mattress beside him, “Get some really fancy red wine.”

 

He shot a quieting glare at the other man, “You’ve already had enough to drink—oh, hello,” he switched tones when someone picked up. “I’d like to order room service for room 1730. Yes, the uh…” he looked over and saw Eames pointing at something on the menu frantically, like a child begging for a toy in a store, “The penne alfredo, please?” he raised a confused eyebrow at Eames but focused on the man speaking to him across the phone. “Yes…yes, thank you.”

 

Arthur hung up the phone and stood up from the bed, suddenly realizing how close Eames had gotten while he was distracted. “So the food is on its way?”

 

“Yes, so how about you head out to your door and wait for it to arrive?” Arthur was not concerned about the man finding out why Arthur was here. He kept his room clean and orderly on basic principle and hid everything important away. But that did not mean that he felt comfortable with this drunk-flirtatious man in his room.

 

“But it’ll take at least ten minutes!” Eames grumbled even as he pushed himself off the mattress and followed Arthur to the door.

 

“That’s not my problem,” Arthur shrugged, holding the door open with a very clear message.

 

“Well thanks Arthur,” Eames smiled as he passed through the doorframe and back out into the hallway, “You’ve been a real doll.” The pet name caused Arthur to roll his eyes and closed the door quickly, locking everything up. “See you in the morning!” Eames called at him through the door and Arthur could hear the man’s muffled footsteps as he left.

 

“Great,” Arthur grumbled sarcastically, “Can’t wait.”

 

All he wanted to do as he re-entered his room was to curl up under the fluffy duvet and sleep. But he bypassed the inviting bed reluctantly and returned to the writing desk, his laptop now powered up and ready to be put to good use. He logged in and began setting up the proper programs before connecting to the hotel’s internet, thankful that it was wireless as it would make it even more difficult to trace back to his computer.

 

Once he was connected he opened up a new program, one he had created to work backwards through a network connection. When the progress bar popped up on his screen, warning him that this would take a while to get through the layers of security without tripping any alarms, he was not surprised. A hotel this up-scale would have a lot of important guests who would need their personal information locked up. 

 

He sat back in his chair, rubbing his eyes tiredly and trying to force himself into staying awake while the progress bar slowly inched forward. He stared at the ceiling for a few minutes before dropping his gaze to find Eames’s slightly crumpled list of San Francisco sights. With nothing better to do, Arthur grabbed a pen and began skimming the list and ranking the sights based on what he wanted to see.

 

When he was finished he saw that the progress bar was almost full and decided to return the list while he waited the last few minutes. With a drawn out groan he pulled himself out of the chair, grabbed his key card and wandered out into the hallway. As his door clicked behind him and he walked up to the door beside him he felt a little foolish, like children passing notes. But with a small eye roll of exasperation he bent down and slipped the sheet of paper under the door before heading back to his own room.

 

He entered his room again, turning off unnecessary lights as he went at the thought of being able to sleep soon. When he sat down at the desk he saw the progress bar was gone and he was looking at a folder full of guest personal information. He made a mental note to himself to delete his personal information when he was finished here, always feeling a little uncomfortable when he was able to successfully break into a computer to steal information.

 

A necessary consequence, he supposed, to constantly showing how easy it was for someone to get information about you. This mild paranoia had simply driven him to learn how to delete or hide information that he didn’t want anyone to see, having become quite skilled at it with practice. He pushed these thoughts aside and found Eames’s file, pulling it up and saving a copy to his computer before breaking the connection with the hotel computers. There was a chance of getting caught the moment you connected to their system but there was no point in leaving the connection intact longer than necessary.

 

He looked over the file, reading through the details. Date of birth: September 15, 1977. So Arthur had been right and his mark was only a few years older than him, twenty seven this year while Arthur would be turning twenty four. All of the helpful information was saved from the man’s reservation; mailing address in England, phone number - even though that was probably changed by now - and credit card number.

 

That was all the information Arthur needed for his stepping stone. With that he would be able to trace back through Eames’s payments far enough to get new information to work with, even if Eames recently got a new credit card. If Eames had rented or bought a car, Arthur would have his driver’s license. If Eames had bought a plane ticket Arthur would be able to get his passport information. Feeling satisfied, Arthur wiped the history of his computer and powered down, slipping it away in his safe.

 

Finally he was able to turn off the rest of the lights and crawl under the soft duvet, lazily nestling against the mountain of pillows. He let out a relaxed sigh, only then realizing how utterly exhausted he really was. In the quiet darkness he strained to hear anything happening in the next room but it was silent. The hotel may have been sound-proofed well, but Arthur hoped that it was quiet because Eames was asleep.

 


	2. Day One: Eames

 

**Day One**

**_Eames_**

 

He fidgeted in line impatiently, waiting for the young man with slicked back ebony hair to hurry up at the front desk and finish up. While he waited he leaned against his suitcase and looked around the hotel, astounded that people would put so much money into a building. It seemed like there were so many other things worth spending money on. Though he had to admit that it was rather beautiful, especially the rows of lights hanging from the upper balconies.

 

Finally the young man left and the line moved forward. There were only two more people in front of him and another hostess took a spot at the desk so it did not take long for his turn to arrive. He approached the black marble desk and smiled at the redhead across the counter, noticing the tiny blush on her cheeks as she returned the smile shyly. “Hi, I’ve made a reservation here.”

  
“Can I see your reservation confirmation form, please?” the woman continued to smile a little hesitantly and Eames wondered if she was new.

 

“You most _certainly_ may,” he smirked and rummaged through his bag, setting the slightly bent forms onto the counter almost proudly. He wanted to cringe at the thought of how much this stay would cost him but he forced it away; he was here now so he should just enjoy it. And he might as well start off his fun by causing the cute girl across the counter to blush again.

 

“Alright, I found your reservation but there seems to have been some change…” Eames leaned against the counter curiously, trying to see the computer screen. “There’s a note here saying that your employer called and upgraded you to a Balcony King Suite on our Regency floor with a message saying ‘I hope this helps you complete your job.’ Wow…” she looked up at him, eyes wide, “I wish I had a boss like that. You’re very lucky.”

 

Eames forced a light-hearted laugh, suddenly feeling very nervous.  How the hell was he supposed to pay for that? He would have credit card debt for the rest of his life. “So do I give you my credit card now?”

 

“Oh, no he’s already paid for your room,” she smiled, already working on getting his key card made.

 

“Oh,” Eames sighed in obvious relief, wondering who in their right mind would pay for someone else’s room for a week when it cost $350 a night. “Then yes, I’m very lucky.”

 

The girl giggled at his grin and slid the blue key card across the desk. He was quite sure it was obvious that he would not normally be able to consider staying in a place like this but he didn’t let it bother him. It was amusing his hostess and he was looking forward to pretending to be rich for a week. Good practice. “So you’ll be staying in room 1730 and to get up onto the Regency floor you’ll need to put your key card in the elevator slot before you can select the floor. It is extra security since dignitaries normally stay on that floor.”

 

Eames whistled, “Fancy. So am I all done?” he shoved his papers in a pocket with the key card while watching the girl read something on the computer screen curiously.

 

“Actually there’s one more thing. I’ll be right back,” she smiled and disappeared into a back room. A moment later she returned, handing him a solid white envelope. “The note said your employer wanted this given to you when you arrived.” Eames raised an eyebrow and looked it over before tucking it under one arm and returning his attention to the young woman. “Now you enjoy your stay in San Francisco. My name is Evelyn if you need _anything_.”

 

Not knowing what else to do, Eames sent her an amused smirk, “Thanks Evelyn.” He winked and pulled his bag away from the front desk towards the elevator. He held in his laugh until he was safely away in an empty elevator and slowly passing the floors. Half of the time he didn’t realize he was flirting; it was just a fun way to interact with people that he had adopted. But even if he had been turning it up a notch for the hotel hostess he had not expected it to have _that_ much of an effect. Oh well, it had been entertaining and he wouldn’t have to worry about it again.

 

He found his room and slipped inside, shoving his PASIV device and other important documentation in the room’s safe before allowing himself to walk over to the bed and collapse onto the mattress. He loved feeling himself sinking down, the duvet and mattress unbelievably soft, and he closed his eyes with a contented hum.

 

It was about an hour later when he blinked his eyes open blearily and realized he had fallen asleep. He turned on the wall lamp lazily, the sun beginning to set outside his balcony windows, and he grabbed the letter from his employer. He tore the envelope open and rolled onto his back to read what the letter said but a small photograph fluttered from his grasp and landed on his face.

 

He set the letter aside for one moment and picked up the photo inquisitively. He realized almost immediately that this must have been the man he saw at the front desk earlier while he was in line. And wow was this man _stunning_. That black hair was slicked back perfectly, just as he had seen earlier today, and it accentuated the man’s strong cheekbones and jaw. That skin was pale but looked wonderful and soft to the touch. And those eyes…hooded chocolate brown with a flash of hazel in the light as they stared off to the right when the photo was taken.

 

The man was dressed impeccably, custom suit that hugged his form just enough to show off his body without being uncomfortable. His posture was rigid, but with independence rather than nerves. If he was honest with himself he would say that the other man looked a little boring, but that was something Eames could fix. Eames would guess that the man was his age or a little younger, eyes looking calculating but soft. He set the photo on his stomach carefully, not wanting to damage it as he reached for the letter again.

 

_Eames,_

_A photograph of your mark is enclosed. His name is Arthur and he will be staying in room 1731 next to you; this should help you keep track of him. I want you to replicate this man’s persona as best you can in your one week time period. This includes appearance, behaviour, mannerisms, and personality – everything you would need in order to use the role in a dream. When your week is up the hotel desk will have a plane ticket for you to come see me and share your results. _

_Best of luck._

 

Eames let out a sigh, blowing his hair off his forehead as he picked up the photo again and studied it. The man looked like a simple mark, straightforward and proper, but Eames knew better. Just like that flash of hazel that could so easily be missed or forgotten, Eames could tell that there was a lot hidden underneath this man’s exterior that would influence his persona.

 

He pulled himself off the bed and began thinking about this job while he showered and got changed for dinner. The job would require more than simple observation; he would have to get close to this man – Arthur – and learn all of the small quirks that made up who he was. Not that he minded getting up close and personal with a mark, especially when they looked like _that_, but it was not always the professional choice. It was often the case that you could learn everything you would need to pull off a role through close – but impersonal – observation.

 

But this job was special and he had to do absolutely everything he could to impress his employer. He had to be able to pull this man’s persona overtop his own so fluently and effortlessly that he practically _was_ the other man. Eames had to take on his form in a dream and be so convincing that, if he and Arthur stood beside one another, his employer would not be able to tell them apart.

 

This was his one shot into the profession he had always wanted. Oh sure, he had done a few jobs in illegal dream work before, but he did not want to continue down that path with the same people. His previous employers had not been professional or properly prepared and that could be very dangerous. You had to remember that when you opened up your subconscious, everyone else in the dream was opening up theirs as well. And sometimes you found things down there that made you wish you had stayed in college and gone legal.

 

But this man, the man who had given him this test, he was professional. Calm, polite, confident, cautious, everything Eames was looking for in an employer and a team member. And, even better, the man had understood and appreciated Eames’s talent. The previous people Eames had worked with just saw him as an actor – a common thief. But he wasn’t. He was something _much_ rarer. A Forger – or at least a forger in training, and that was exactly what his employer was looking for to add to his team.

 

Eames had always been rather skilled at mimicking people he observed, ever since he was a child. He was able to copy accents and forms of speech, duplicate mannerisms – little ticks and habits that made everyone unique – replicate emotions. He forged personas and some day he was going to be the best. Hell, he was already well on his way to being just that. All he needed was a proper team to work with, partners in crime he could trust while he honed and perfected his skills. And this was his one chance at that.

 

He slid his key into his pocket, glancing over his attire for just a moment in the mirror before heading out towards the elevators. He had decided to put on something a little classier than what he arrived in, hoping to match Arthur’s tastes. But when it came to choking himself with a tie he decided he had done enough as it was and left the room with his collar undone.

 

When he reached the main lobby he dodged a few giggling children and made his way over to the hotel restaurant with a kitchen that smelled like heaven. He had not eaten in a while and figured that he would be able to see his surroundings just as effectively from a table on the edge of the restaurant as he would from the lounge of one of the couches by the front desk. The host sat him down on the edge of the lobby as he requested and Eames began skimming the menu hungrily, glancing around at other occupied tables for silent suggestions.

 

Once he had decided he set the menu down and glanced around the lobby, wondering idly how difficult it would be to find his mark. But then, as if there truly was some grand plan out there in the world, he did a double take and found Arthur sitting on a couch in the lounge. Wow, that had been easier than he had expected. And even better...Arthur was staring right back at him. The man had seemed relaxed while he was sipping a drink – a mojito from what Eames could see at this distance – but when Eames’s eyes focused on him, he could see Arthur stiffen in surprise.

 

He noticed Arthur returning the stare insistently and that nearly caused Eames to push away from his table and walk over that minute. But then his mark looked away, distracting himself with his drink. Not wanting to scare his mark away and have to abandon his newly ordered dinner to chase after him, Eames dropped his gaze and occupied himself with the free bread.

 

He would occasionally shoot a glance at Arthur out of the corner of his eye just to make sure the man was still there, but otherwise he engrossed himself in his dinner and enjoyed himself. He was in no rush; he had a week and this wasn’t a race. He didn’t want to just become a nuisance to this man, bothering him as he tried to slowly learn about him. No, he wanted his mark – Arthur – to _want_ to spend time with him. To like him. That was the only way he would ever be able to witness a full range of emotions from this man.

 

However, getting to that stage was difficult, no matter how charming Eames was – and he was _quite_ charming. Judging by Arthur’s immediate reaction to Eames’s stare, as well as his general attire and posture, his mark was rather uptight and liked to remain aloof. That could be dangerous to work around and Eames would have to be very careful to not permanently ruin his opportunity.

 

If he acted aloof and uninterested in return there was a good chance they would part ways and never bother to talk again. But if he was too forward he could make the man uncomfortable and drive him away, which would be equally as disastrous. He would have to find some finicky balance between the two extremes; enough to catch Arthur’s interest and draw him in while not scaring him away.

 

When he was finished eating he wrote down his room number on the bill and ordered a mojito and a small glass of scotch. Then, one glass in each hand, he strutted out of the restaurant and over to the lounge, calculating as he went. Arthur seemed very confident and self-assured so Eames easily met this with his own confidence as he walked right up to his mark. For the briefest of moments he considered where to sit, but then chose to sit down on the opposite end of the same couch. A separate couch would be too much distance and snuggled up close to the man’s side would have been too close.

 

With an excited smirk he placed the newly ordered mojito on the table and slid it down so that it rested in front of Arthur. He saw Arthur consider the glass suspiciously for a moment while Eames leaned back on the couch to sip his own drink. Finally, he heard that voice for the first time, “I don’t accept drinks from strangers.”

 

Eames couldn’t help but laugh at that, at the caution he could hear running through the man’s precise voice. He was not disappointed by this revelation; he was looking for a challenge. “Then how do strangers have any hope of getting into those fancy pants of yours?” he teased, lips curling around the rim of his glass.

 

“They _don’t_,” Arthur told him quickly, glaring at Eames in such a way that clearly expressed that Eames, specifically, would not be getting into his pants. That was a shame, but Eames wasn’t the type of person to give up easily.

 

Confidently he lifted a hand to catch the attention of a server. When the man arrived, looking just as dressed up and stoic as his mark, Eames decided to have a little fun. Teasing uptight people never got tiring, and because they were so accustomed to following rules and order, it was so easy to send them off-kilter. “Yes, another mojito for my friend, please? This time without the arsenic.” He laughed almost immediately at the twin expressions of disbelief and horror he received, like they were at some murder mystery party or something. The server left, twitchy and nervous, and Eames saw Arthur send him a murderous glare. Oh, now this was getting fun. “The name is Eames, by the way. And what should I be calling you?”

 

“Leaving,” Arthur spat and stood up from the couch quickly.

 

Shit, he had gone too far already. Damn, but this man was a challenge he had not quite been prepared for. He wrapped his fingers around Arthur’s wrist hurriedly, before he lost his opportunity entirely, and gently stopped his mark’s retreat. He stuck his lower lip out slightly and looked up to meet those eyes when they glanced back, “Forgive me, darling,” he spoke honestly, “I was just having a little fun. Sit with me a while?”

 

He felt Arthur hover for a moment, muscles in his wrist twitching under his fingers. And then, much to Eames’s relief, he heard Arthur sigh. That was all he needed and slowly coaxed the man back onto the couch, feeling butterflies in his stomach with nerves and relief. He allowed Arthur to pull his hand away and slip to the far end of the couch, practically molesting the armrest in an attempt to put distance between him and Eames. The server returned, looking like a storm cloud, and set the new drink on the table. Arthur immediately snatched it up and took a long drink before setting it back down properly. The man glanced over, “Arthur.”

 

“Pleasure to meet you, Arthur,” Eames toasted him before drinking. He had nearly messed it up, but after a rocky start he was finally finding smoother ground. Now he just needed to catch Arthur’s interest and find an excuse to spend a week with him. “So what brings you to San Francisco?” he asked curiously, wondering what plans he would have to work around.

 

“Business,” Arthur answered him. It was clear the man was trying to act casual but was still rather uncomfortable, judging by the fact that he was fidgeting with his glass while he sat.

 

Eames slid down the couch slightly and leaned closer, amused despite himself by his mark’s way of speaking, “Do you always give one word answers?”

 

Arthur pressed himself further into the armrest; he might as well have been sitting on it rather than the couch cushions. “Yes.”

 

Eames was not deterred. The opposite actually since he loved games. “It’ll be like Twenty-Questions then. So what sort of business will you be doing?” He waited but his only response was a raised eyebrow while Arthur took another sip. Eames wanted to roll his eyes, “Oh, is that too open-ended? Alright, will you be in a lot of meetings?”

 

“No.” Eames held back his sigh of relief, inching closer to Arthur. It would have been nearly impossible for him to find an excuse to spend time with the other man if he was in business meetings all day.

 

Now for the other tough question. “Are you here alone?” He was sure to wiggle an eyebrow suggestively at his mark; a little playful flirting never went amiss.

 

He heard Arthur sigh before he answered, “Yes.”

 

“No co-workers? No girlfriend?”

 

“No,” Arthur answered blandly. And Eames could not thank his luck enough. It would have been much more difficult to find a reason to trail along behind Arthur if he was here with someone else – co-workers or, god forbid, a girlfriend. They would not take too kindly to Eames shoving his way into Arthur’s attention, especially a girlfriend.

 

A plan was formulating in Eames’s mind; a plan that was selfish and cunning and brilliant. After all, Eames had never been to San Francisco before either, and he was more than willing to mix business with pleasure. Eames watched his mark for a moment before draining his glass confidently, hoping this would work. “Have you ever been to San Francisco before?”

 

“No, this is my first time here,” Arthur spoke and Eames was excited to get more than a one word answer. This boosted his confidence even more as he slid down the couch to move closer to Arthur.

 

“Oh really?” he drawled, exaggerating his accent slightly as he felt the other man’s heat radiating off that suit-clad form. But just as quickly as he felt that heat brush against him it was gone again, Arthur escaping to the opposite couch and leaving the table between them. He was momentarily frustrated by the retreat, but then he saw Arthur glaring at him across the table, blushing, and Eames couldn’t help but think that it was almost…adorable. “Well…this is my first time here as well, so what do you say we do some sightseeing together?”

 

It was a risky move, so Eames was not surprised when Arthur immediately refused, “No.”

 

“Come on, darling…” Eames fell into his best puppy-dog look he had in his arsenal. Bottom lip out, eyes wide and pleading, elbows resting on knees as he leaned forward, chin resting on his hands. “I’m all alone here for a week with absolutely nothing to do,” he ducked his head slightly, a habit many people had when they were feeling alone or vulnerable.

 

And slowly, oh so slowly, he saw a spark in Arthur’s eyes as he considered the offer. He was falling right into Eames’s trap, years of practice making Eames an excellent forger of emotions and postures even without being in a dreamscape. Now, all he needed was a push. Eames began listing off reasons why Arthur should agree to his offer; listing things as reasonable as how handy it would be to have two people figuring out maps and transit, and as ridiculous as ‘and what if I get mugged and sold into slavery?’ He was so caught up in his persuasion that he almost missed Arthur’s agreement, “Alright.”

 

“Wait, really?” he stopped mid-sentence and watched with a grin as Arthur finished off his drink. “Excellent! We’ll start bright and early tomorrow, darling!”

 

“Don’t call me that,” Arthur glared at him before setting his empty glass down on the table and standing up, “I’m going to bed.”

 

Eames immediately stood up as well and followed Arthur across the lobby towards the elevators, unwilling to let this man out of his sight quite yet. He was pleased and excited about his plan being successful; now he would be able to see the city _and_ observe and interact with his mark. But beyond that, Arthur was just incredibly fun and amusing to pester and Eames wasn’t ready to sleep yet.

 

He began testing out some of his favourite pet names as they weaved through hotel guests heading out for the evening, slipping into a free elevator. He had not even noticed he had been using pet names on his mark until Arthur had snapped at him, but now he never wanted to stop. He watched as Arthur leaned his forehead against the elevator glass but Eames continued, “Kitten?”

 

Eames giggled then. He loved watching Arthur’s shoulders and neck tense up just a tiny bit more at each pet name Eames spoke, fingernails probably digging into soft palms in frustration. It was nice to see that the man was not always capable of impersonal indifference. Of course, he also couldn’t stop laughing at the mental image of Arthur walking around with a collar and bell around his neck. But then he had to clear his suddenly-dry throat and push that thought aside quickly, Arthur unintentionally helping him away from the _very_ unprofessional thought by continuing the momentum, “No.”

 

They were walking down the hallway now, Eames knowing that they would actually end up in rooms beside one another. “Sunshine?” Eames continued, having recovered from his momentary lapse in attention, “Wait no, your face looks too much like a thundercloud right now. How about ‘love’?”

 

Arthur glanced back at him as they continued walking, raising an eyebrow in what Eames thought might be uncomfortable confusion, “Why would you call a stranger that?”

 

They were outside room 1731 now and they both stopped. Eames paused and then shrugged, realizing that he wouldn’t say it to just any stranger. Sure, he had just met Arthur but it just felt natural to pester him with the pet names and terms of endearment. Besides, any way he could get a new reaction or expression out of his mark was considered worthwhile in his books for the job, though he couldn’t explain that to Arthur. “It’s just a term of endearment.”

 

“But why would you use a term of endearment on a stranger?” Arthur pressed as he slipped his hand into his pocket to look for his key.

 

Unable to tell Arthur the full truth – which he wouldn’t anyway because that would screw up the whole job – he just winked and went for the half-truth as he wandered away to his own room, “Just fun to watch you get riled up, love.”

 

Eames slipped his key card in slowly and walked into his room. He was tired, especially after flying across multiple time zones, but he was at a weird mix between overtired and not tired enough to sleep. So he began to unpack haphazardly, unable to think of anything else he could do that would be productive. He had brought a little bit of everything, not knowing how casual or done-up he would have to dress, so he hung up the two suits he brought and shoved the rest of his clothes into drawers.

 

When that was done he changed into comfortable sleeping clothes and headed out onto the balcony for some fresh air, pulling on a hoodie to ward off the chill. He leaned over the railing slightly and could see part of Arthur’s balcony to his right, just a wall and a seventeen-story drop stopping him. It looked possible to slip onto the other balcony if you were careful but Eames stayed put, not seeing a point in pissing off Arthur that much the first night.

 

He watched the edge of the city below, trolleys and cars rushing along the road that lined the edge of the shore. The piers along the bay were all lit up, a few boats coming in to dock, and the main ferry building was lit up beautifully. But even as he gazed around and took in the view, he wanted to be in Arthur’s room. His mark was already proving to be an interesting challenge, turning Eames’s ‘test’ job into an exciting and memorable one. But Arthur was also like a puzzle, a very complicated puzzle that Eames was dying to solve.

 

Of course, he couldn’t just wander over there for no reason. There was a good chance doing that might just push Arthur into changing his mind about the sightseeing…and that’s when the idea came to Eames. He rushed back into his room, closing the balcony behind him to avoid chilling his room, and found the complimentary pad of paper and pen on the writing desk. He began listing all of the sights in San Francisco he could think of, checking his laptop for a few other suggestions.

 

When he was done he was already halfway to the door before he realized that Arthur might not appreciate being bothered more after ‘going to bed’, whether he was actually in bed or not. So Eames decided to pull on a role of mild drunkenness, pinching his cheeks in the mirror to make them a little redder. He felt a little foolish but knew for a fact that people usually let you get away with more and forgave easier when they thought you were drunk.

 

With a mischievous grin for his own benefit, he set his key card on the dresser before slipping out into the hallway. It was a risk, and Arthur may just slam the door on his face, but he figured it was worth a shot. He stood outside Arthur’s door and knocked, faking a slight lack of balance and an intoxicated smile. It took a moment, and Eames wondered briefly if Arthur was asleep, but then the door clicked open and his mark glanced at him in surprise and irritation, “What do you want, Eames? It’s late.”

 

Since Arthur already seemed annoyed by the unscheduled visit, Eames decided to play up the drunk a bit. “It’s not late, pet. It’s not even ten thirty yet,” he held out his wrist obnoxiously, as if he wanted Arthur to check the watch himself.

 

Arthur just rolled his eyes and ignored him, “Yes, well some of us have jetlag.”

 

Eames watched Arthur rub his temples, as if trying to force away a migraine. Eames filed away that flash of irritated pain in his memory, briefly wondering if he should just let the man get some rest. But he decided that this was for the good of the job – research – and scoffed loudly, “Jetlag? You want to talk about jetlag?” he pointed a wavering finger at Arthur, “I just flew here from London, and that’s England mate, not Canada.” He picked up the volume of his voice then, “But time zones hold no power over me!”

 

Arthur shushed him hurriedly, glancing out into the hallway cautiously before returning his attention to Eames. It seemed like Arthur was not used to staying in a place like this and was worried about getting kicked out. “Be quiet; you’re in a fancy hotel here!” Eames pouted at the chiding tone and placed a hand on the wall beside him like he was close to losing balance. Arthur raised an eyebrow at this movement, “Are you drunk?”

 

“Only slightly, love,” Eames smirked as the endearment rolled off his tone, slurring his words minutely. He pulled his list out of his pocket, folded and creased now, and took a step forward, “I came here with a purpose.”

 

“Did you now?” Arthur asked him, sounding condescending and bored. But Eames noticed that he had his mark’s attention as he waved the paper around.

 

“Yes. I came to give you this,” he set the paper in Arthur’s hands carefully, like in his drunken haze he thought this was the most precious thing in the world. “It’s a list of all the sights we can see in San Francisco. Your job,” he pointed a threatening finger at Arthur again, “is to rank them in order of what you want to see and slip it under my door so that I may plan our adventure. And I demand that the list be under my door before sunrise, you hear?”

 

He forced a giggle, always enjoying the feel of wearing a role and fooling his audience thoroughly. Arthur rolled his eyes and began to slowly close his door, “Alright, now go back to your own room.”

 

This was the moment where Eames took a gamble, where he had to use his acting to pull a desired reaction from his (pissed off) mark. He slid his hands into his pockets slowly, and then began searching them more frantically as he ‘realized’ he forgot his key. “Bollocks! I forgot my bloody key in my room…” he paused in his movements and slowly tilted his eyes up to meet Arthur’s eyes sadly through his lashes, “Could you call room service for me?”

 

For a moment Arthur looked like he was considering murdering Eames, his headache probably making the entire situation much worse for him. But then Eames saw those eyes soften ever so slightly, gazing at Eames with an almost protective look, “Fine.”

 

“Thanks, darling,” Eames smiled and slipped by Arthur into the room as his mark stepped back to give him room. He felt warm from that look he had received and allowed himself one brash decision when he slid his hand along Arthur’s arm in passing. Eames just shrugged when Arthur glared and told him to keep his hands to himself, trailing behind him as the other man sat down on the bed and picked up the hotel phone. “Get some really fancy red wine,” he felt required to reconfirm his intoxication after his brazen move as he sat down on the edge of the bed beside Arthur.

 

Arthur just glared at him, “You’ve already had enough to drink—oh, hello…” his mark’s attention was dragged away from him as someone answered the phone and Eames reached for the menu, pointing at the penne alfredo when Arthur looked over at him for something to order. He wasn’t quite sure _why_ he wanted the pasta, but it seemed like as good a choice as any other.

 

While Arthur was distracted Eames slid closer to him on the bed, their thighs almost touching as he glanced around the room curiously. The room did not tell him much about the other man, besides the fact that his mark was clearly just as clean, organized and proper with his room as he was with his appearance. Nothing was left lying around to give Eames an idea of personal tastes or interests except for a laptop sitting at the login screen on the writing desk. He was pulled away from his thoughts as Arthur hung up and stood from the bed quickly, “So the food is on its way?”

 

“Yes,” Arthur nodded, arms crossed, “so how about you head out to your door and wait for it to arrive?”

 

“But it’ll take at least ten minutes!” Eames argued for the sake of arguing even as he pushed himself off the mattress. He had bothered the man enough for one night and, judging by the pained look Arthur was trying to hide from his face, Arthur needed to rest.

 

“That’s not my problem,” Arthur spoke tiredly, holding the door open for Eames.

 

He decided to take the message gracefully and smiled as he walked into the hallway, “Well thanks, Arthur. You’ve been a real doll.” The pet name resulted in the door being slammed in his face and he laughed, “See you in the morning!” He wandered away to his own door, worrying that he had gone too far and Arthur would refuse to sightsee with him. He would like to think his visit had been worth it, but if it pushed Arthur away then he was screwed.

 

Eames waited outside his room for the food to arrive, leaning against his door and working through his new memories of his mark. He revisited mannerisms and postures, attempting to recreate a few expressions he had seen. This caused him to accidentally glower at the server who brought a trolley up to his door a few minutes later, nearly stopping the man in his tracks. “Oh, sorry mate, I wasn’t glowering at you,” he explained hurriedly as he stepped out of the way as the man swiped a card and pushed the door open to take the trolley in.

 

“That’s alright,” the man took a tray off the trolley and set it on the writing table before handing Eames the bill. “But it certainly looked like someone put in a damn good effort to piss you off tonight.”

 

Eames paused in his writing, mid-signature, and looked up at the room service attendant. But there was nothing to be said so he finished charging the food to his room and bid the man farewell. When he was alone again he turned to the mirror and recreated the face again now that he could see it. It wasn’t quite right, his eyes and jaw not holding the exact telltale signs of agitation, but the look still clearly depicted anger and aggravation.

 

He sighed in frustration and let the expression fall, trying instead for that flash of soft protectiveness he thought he had seen when Arthur realized Eames was stranded. He stood in front of the mirror for ten minutes, his pasta going cold, but he couldn’t pull it off. Eames comforted himself with the thought that he would probably have better luck once he went under into a dream and was able to take on Arthur’s appearance as well. But he was too tired for that tonight and wandered over to nibble at his food. He wasn’t really hungry but it occupied his attention.

 

The hotel attendant’s words wandered into his mind again and he groaned angrily, becoming surer and surer of the notion that Arthur would refuse to sightsee with him tomorrow. Not that he could blame Arthur; Eames had come down on his mark pretty forcefully. But what the hell was he supposed to do when Arthur rejected his offer? Observe him from afar? _Stalk_ him? Yeah, that would go over wonderfully. Not only would he not get a close up experience of his mark’s expressions and behaviours, he would probably end up in jail.

 

Eames was contemplating the possibility that he had fucked up his opportunity, that he would not be able to sufficiently integrate Arthur into a role, and he would therefore disappoint his employer and not get the job. But as he slowly considered slamming his head against the table he heard a rustling by his door.

 

Curious, Eames forgot about his pasta bowl and pushed away from the desk. When he turned a corner and the door came into view he saw that there was a small white sheet of crumpled paper half-pushed under his door. He knelt down and picked it up, stomach clenching with excited nerves as he unfolded it. The paper could say that Arthur refused to sightsee with Eames, or it could have the sights ranked off. Eames didn’t know. And that caused hope and nervous tension to bloom inside him.

 

He took a steadying breath and unfolded the last crease, releasing his breathe in relief when he saw his list of sights with numbers scattered down the line. With a smile he grabbed his key card and headed down to the concierge desk. It had long since closed by this point, the lobby more or less deserted, but there were plenty of maps and sightseeing guides he could pull off shelves and smuggle back up to his room.

 

When he passed Arthur’s room he could not see any light underneath the door and hoped that meant the man was asleep in bed. He was getting very tired himself so he dumped the maps and information booklets on his writing desk, setting aside what he would need for tomorrow’s adventure, before crawling under his duvet. He clicked off the last lamp and snuggled under the pile of pillows that were unnecessary but oh so comfortable. He only managed one tired but content sigh before he slipped down into sleep.

 

  


	3. Day Two: Arthur

**Day Two**

** _Arthur_ **

 

He was jolted out of sleep by the sound of frantic knocking at his door. He groaned and remained motionless on the bed, half covered by pillows and hoping that the individual would give up and leave. They didn’t. Eventually he pulled himself out of bed and padded over to the door barefoot, eyes blurry with sleep and hair standing on end. He slowly undid the locks, movements lethargic with sleep, before pulling open the door.

 

“Morning, love!” Eames yelled at him brightly right before Arthur slammed the door closed again. He heard a chuckle through the heavy door before the frantic knocking began again. “Arthur…” he heard the man whine and Arthur wondered briefly if Eames’s knuckles would grow bloody from the knocking. He certainly hoped so. “Open up, it’s time to start our adventure.”

 

Arthur glanced down at his watch and sighed, forehead pressed against the hotel wallpaper beside the door. Finally, he slowly straightened, ran his fingers through his hair half-heartedly to try and get it to lie flat, and pulled the door open again. “Eames…it’s six in the morning. The sun _just_ rose.”

 

“Exactly! Like I said last night, ‘bright and early’. It is now both bright, and early,” Eames looked at him like he was stupid. Arthur glared. “Now don’t give me that look. We need to get some breakfast and get on our way.”

 

“Eames, let me explain something to you,” Arthur leaned against the doorframe tiredly, thankful that at least his headache had disappeared overnight. “It is six in the morning. I am jetlagged and exhausted. _Nowhere_ is going to be open to serve us breakfast and there’s a good chance the transit isn’t fully running yet.” He sighed when Eames just raised an eyebrow, like he couldn’t see the problem with the situation. “There is no _point_ in leaving the hotel yet, so I might as well sleep.”

 

Eames shrugged and leaned against the wall of the alcove, seemingly bored and disappointed. “Alright, pet. I just assumed that you would be able to handle anything and be able to work around being tired. But if you need your beauty rest…” Eames glanced over at him with another slow shrug, “I guess I’ll just have to go out and be productive for the both of us.”

 

Arthur felt his eyes narrow at the man’s challenge, suddenly feeling wide awake. “Give me twenty minutes,” was all he said before slamming his door closed and heading towards the shower, stripping out of his sleeping clothes as he went. It was only when he was threading a tie around his neck, finishing off his outfit a while later, that he realized Eames had probably done that on purpose to get his way. But he was awake now and starting to get hungry so he ignored this and left his hotel room.

 

He knocked on Eames’s door and waited, four minutes early. “Honestly it took you long enough, darling, you’re like a girl getting ready for prom--” Eames was already speaking when he opened the door but he stopped mid-sentence. Arthur felt the other man’s eyes trail over his form, shifting his weight uncomfortably at the stare, “The hell? Are we going to a wedding?”

 

Arthur glanced down at his suit briefly before looking back at Eames questioningly, “This is a perfectly adequate suit for casual occasions.”

 

“The words ‘suit’ and ‘casual’ do not belong in the same sentence, Arthur,” Eames skimmed his eyes over Arthur again. “When you go sightseeing you wear normal clothes, like jeans and t-shirts and sweaters.”

 

“Says who?” Arthur crossed his arms defiantly.

 

“The majority of the world, mate!” Eames rolled his eyes as he stepped out of the room, apparently already realizing that he had lost this argument. Arthur could see that his mark was dressed in a pair of dark jeans and a thick sweater.

 

“Yes, well I’m not like the majority of the world,” Arthur stepped back to give the other man space.

 

“Yeah, I think I’m starting to realize that, darling,” Eames flashed him a small smirk before heading off down the hallway towards the elevators, Arthur following behind him. When they made it to the lobby floor they found that the hotel restaurant was, in fact, open to serve breakfast and Eames glanced back at him, “See?”

 

Arthur just rolled his eyes and followed as they were led to a small booth. The rest of the restaurant was empty – because the rest of the hotel was sane – and Arthur had to forcefully remind himself why he was dealing with this. If he spent time with his mark he would be able to learn a lot more about the man than what he would be able to dig up with his normal methods. He would impress his employer and get the job he had been searching for. And if he put up with Eames’s nonsense he would be able to do his job while also getting to see the city sights.

 

The whole argument was logical in his head, but it was still a battle of determination to stay sitting at that table as Eames smirked at him, used pet names, and generally made a nuisance of himself. “Seriously, darling, you’re going to freeze.”

 

“It’s the middle of summer,” Arthur didn’t bother looking up as he reached for the salt and pepper shakers to prepare his eggs.

 

“Thank you for stating the obvious, Arthur,” Eames seized both shakers away a second before he could grasp them, Arthur’s hand closing on empty air, “But apparently it gets really windy and damp along the water.”

 

“Thank you for your _concern_, Eames,” Arthur snatched the shakers from Eames’s hand, “But I’ll be fine.” The other man just shrugged and they both ate their breakfast silently for a few minutes. But then Arthur decided that he should probably start trying to pull information from his mark, “So what brings you to San Francisco?”

 

“Business,” Eames spoke through a mouthful of toast and Arthur cringed at the sight.

 

“What sort of business?” he kept a relaxed posture, trying to make the conversation feel easygoing rather than directed.

 

Eames glanced at him over the table for a moment, looking thoughtful as he chewed and swallowed. “Acting, I guess you could say.”

 

“And yet you have a full week free to sightsee?” Arthur raised an eyebrow, utilizing his napkin much more effectively than his mark.

 

“Well,” Eames paused again to swallow, apparently having a bad habit of shoving too much food in his mouth in one go, “I like to get a feel for a role before I take it on, you know?”

 

Arthur set his fork down, finished, and regarded Eames across the table. Finally, he spoke, “You don’t strike me as someone who is famous.”

 

“Oh I’m on my way, love, mark my words,” Eames grinned and finished his food as well, signing off on the bill. Arthur was about to protest, almost positive that his mark had about the same amount of money as he did to splurge – next to none. But before he managed one syllable Eames had grasped his arm and begun dragging him down to the street level of the hotel. As they made it outside, Eames paused and finally let go of his arm, “Hm…I wonder what direction north is.”

 

Arthur looked over at him irritably, “Maybe I should be in charge of planning this ‘adventure’,” he quoted sarcastically, “Or at least be in charge of getting us places. What are we looking for?”

 

“The #1 bus,” Eames was pulling out a crumpled map, spinning it around in his hands to try and orient himself.

 

Arthur yanked it from Eames’s grasp and glanced at it himself. He twisted it around until he had the Bay in the right orientation, but he couldn’t quite tell where their hotel was located on the map. “Let’s just go ask the doorman,” he suggested at seeing a man standing beside the valet.

 

“No, I can figure it out on my own!” Eames pulled the map away again.

 

Arthur just shrugged and walked over to the hotel doorman alone, “Hi, which direction do we need to go to find Market Street and the #1 bus?”

 

The man turned to him, looking impeccably dressed with a suit, an overcoat, a top hat, and a dark red rose sitting in his breast pocket. He _really_ liked this hotel. “You just head right down there,” the man pointed towards the Bay with a smile, “for two blocks, and then make a left. The bus stop will be right there.”

 

“Thanks,” Arthur nodded and walked back to Eames, who was looking sullen. “Look, stop moping,” he sighed when Eames trudged along behind him as they followed the doorman’s directions, “You can attempt to impress me some other way; I just want to get there in one piece.” He was frustrated by the other man’s stubbornness to ‘prove’ himself, but he had to admit that it was also quite amusing.

 

They found the bus stop with ease and sat down to wait. The streets were just starting to pick up with vehicle and foot traffic as everyone in the city began heading to work. It was sort of nice to be up early enough to see the city waking up, though he knew he’d be exhausted relatively early. They stood up when they saw the bus turn a corner towards them and Eames handed something to Arthur, “Here.”

 

“What’s this?” Arthur held it up curiously.

 

“It’s a week-long transit pass; just scratch off the seven days you’ll be using it,” Eames held up his own to show the days scratched off in that same material as those scratch-and-win cards.

 

“Alright,” Arthur began scraping away the grey material with a fingernail, shuddering uncomfortably at the feeling. The bus stopped and they climbed on board, showing their pass quickly. All of the seats were already taken so they moved to stand near the back of the bus. “How much do I owe you for this?”

 

“Forty dollars, when you get the chance. I picked them up at the concierge this morning while you were grooming,” Eames smirked and grabbed onto the handrail as the bus’s engine rumbled to life again. Arthur held onto one handrail loosely while he shoved the transit pass into his jacket’s inner pocket. But just then the bus began its ascent up one of the many steep hills that made this city famous and Arthur toppled over. “Whoa, be careful love.”

 

Arthur had lost his grip on the metal handrail and fallen over. But instead of falling to the ground or into the seated strangers around him, as he had expected in his brief moment of panic, he found himself being held against a warm chest by a strong arm around his waist. He wasn’t even sure how Eames had reacted quickly enough to catch him, but Arthur pulled away as soon as the bus rolled to another stop. He felt heat in his face as he blushed, holding onto the cool metal with both hands now and insistently looking out the bus window.

 

He heard his mark chuckling at him and also saw a few people sitting down smirking to themselves lightly, but nothing more was said on the matter and Arthur focused solely on keeping his balance for the rest of the ride. They had to transfer once, the second bus nearly empty so they could both sit down, and soon Arthur could see the very edge of the Golden Gate Bridge come into view.

 

The bus dropped them off in a small park along one end of the bridge beside the highway that passed over it, already stuffed with slow-moving cars. As soon as they stepped off the bus Arthur was hit by a blast of cold, damp air, but he just ducked his head and began walking. He wasn’t about to prove Eames right. The other man glanced over at him briefly but said nothing as they walked over to the railing.

 

There was already a small group of people posing and taking pictures and Eames looked over at him, “Do you have a camera?”

 

“No, do you?” Arthur raised an eyebrow as they both leaned up against the railing to take in the view.

 

“Nope; better stare at it until it’s imprinted in our brains,” the other man smiled and then turned his attention to the bridge.

 

Arthur did the same, taking in the view of the famous landmark. He had known it was large before he saw it, but he was still astounded by the sheer magnitude of it all. The cables arcing down along each side were so wide he would not be able to wrap his arms around one, and the towers were so tall they were half concealed by fog and clouds. He imagined the detail it would take to recreate it in a dream, knowing that it would not compare to the creation of the original.

 

He glanced over briefly and was surprised to find Eames staring at him. Arthur raised an eyebrow, too confused to be annoyed, “I can’t possibly be that exciting. Stop staring at me and stare at the famous landmark sitting in front of you.”

 

His mark laughed and turned away silently, redirecting his gaze as ordered. Arthur was not sure why the other man had been looking at him, probably waiting for Arthur to shiver to yell ‘I told you so’. But he pushed it aside as they began walking along the bridge. “Cold yet, darling?” Eames asked with a smirk as more wind hit them, nothing blocking the wind coming off the chilly water.

 

“No,” Arthur glared, stuffing his hands deeper into his pockets. The bridge spanned nearly two miles so he was preparing himself for a long – and cold – walk. To distract himself, he decided to start up another leading conversation, “So this is your first time here. Did you do much traveling before?”

 

His mark laughed humourlessly, voice nearly snatched away by the wind when he spoke, “No. When I was growing up I never saw anything more than London and Brighton, and whatever happened to be along the way between them. We were always poor and my dad was a tosser who used up all our money before he died. Good riddance to him, too,” Eames spat over the railing as they continued walking.

 

“What did he do that was so bad?” Arthur asked curiously, feeling a little uncomfortable with the suddenly sensitive topic. He had not been expecting his mark to just…open up and tell him these private things so easily. Of course, maybe it was just something in his past that he didn’t mind talking about anymore.

 

“Oh you know,” Eames glanced over at him before looking away again, watching his feet as he walked. “The usual fucked up shit. Verbal and physical abuse, disowned me, killed my mum.”

 

Arthur stopped dead in his tracks, eyes widening at Eames who, when he realized he was alone, stopped and turned to look back at him. “He…he killed—how can you say that so calmly?”

 

Eames walked back to his side, looking sad and distant, “Well he’s dead now, pet, nothing more to be done, right?” Despite the offhanded words Arthur could see his mark’s hunched up shoulders, and not just because of the cold. “You can ask your next question, it’s alright.”

 

Arthur took a deep breath, “How did he die?”

 

“He shoved a bunch of pills down his throat. I’m pretty sure he died to spite me,” Eames spoke softly, staring out across the water.

 

Arthur winced physically at the words, noting the tension in his mark’s body. “I’m sorry,” he spoke quietly. They were both standing against the railing, allowing other walkers and bicyclists to pass them.

 

“Sorry for what?” Eames whirled around, staring at him in confusion. “You didn’t shove those pills down his throat.”

 

“I’m sorry for bringing it up,” Arthur clarified. He wondered if he shouldn’t just stick to his normal methods of information gathering. It seemed a lot less painful for everyone involved. And staring at a computer screen reading facts was a lot different than watching the heartbreak on his mark’s – _Eames’s_ – face as he told Arthur his past.

 

Eames scoffed and rolled his eyes, “If I didn’t want to tell you then I wouldn’t have. So don’t worry about it, pet. It feels good to finally tell someone this stuff, you know? Someone who actually seems interested.” Arthur couldn’t meet the man’s searching gaze, feeling a wave of guilt over the reason for his ‘interest’. But Eames didn’t seem to mind, placing a hand between Arthur’s shoulder blades and shoving him playfully, “Come on, let’s cross this thing before we turn to ice.”

 

They were at the platform surrounding the second tower of the bridge, two thirds of the way there, when Arthur began to shiver. It took another thirty seconds for Eames to realize this. “Do you want my second sweater? I have three layers on if you count my t-shirt.”

 

Arthur shook his head, trying to keep his teeth from chattering when he spoke, “No, I’m fine.” He glared slightly at nothing in particular when he heard the tremor in his own voice.

 

Eames relented and they began walking again, but Arthur noticed that the other man was making a valiant effort to position himself directly between Arthur and the biting wind. He rolled his eyes at first, but then his shivering grew less violent. He couldn’t bring himself to argue the point as they crossed the last of the bridge. He also couldn’t complain when Eames dragged him over to a bus stop, “Let’s take the bus back, I’m bloody well freezing out here!”

 

“If you’re cold then I _suppose_ we can…” Arthur shrugged somewhat disdainfully, pulling an amused chuckle from his mark.

 

“Stop trying to challenge me into walking another two miles in the freezing cold wind and sit your arse down,” Eames grinned, pointing to the bus stop bench provided. Arthur rolled his eyes and remained standing, hidden away from the majority of the wind by the glass shelter.

 

The bus ride back was rather slow since the traffic crossing the bridge and heading into town seemed to be in a constant state of rush hour. He was thankful that they had managed to find two seats at the back of the bus, even though it was right over the back axle so it was a bumpy ride. ‘It’s like a roller coaster!’ Eames had stated gleefully, amusing the San Francisco residents sharing the bus with them. “So what’s the plan for the rest of the day?” Arthur eventually asked once they were back in the downtown area.

 

“Lunch first,” Eames slipped some sunglasses on, finding that the fog had burned off now that they were away from the water. “And then cable car rides until we get tired and want to head back. I figured with jetlag we’d both enjoy a restful afternoon.” Arthur hummed his appreciation over this decision and they wandered down the streets to find a place to grab food. “You can ask more questions, you know. I can tell you have more,” Eames offered later when they were soaking up the sun on a bench with warm sandwiches in their hands.

 

“But why would you want to tell a stranger all of these personal things about yourself? I don’t want you to talk about something that will make you uncomfortable...” That was a lie, of course. It was the uncomfortably personal topics that he was unlikely to find using his normal methods. But that didn’t stop the sense of guilt deep down in his stomach.

 

“Once in a while it’s nice to talk to a stranger, pet. Objective opinion and all that,” Eames shrugged, unceremoniously shoving the last part of his sandwich into his mouth. Arthur watched silently in disdain, taking smaller bites of his own while Eames nearly suffocated as he tried to chew. Finally the other man coughed, cleared his throat, and continued, “I don’t know how interesting I could possibly be but I’ll answer every question I feel like answering.”

 

“Fair enough,” Arthur nodded, taking his last bite and crushing the wrapper into a tiny ball. He was thankful for this sudden openness from his mark, even though he was also surprised. This would make his job much easier and the information he collected much more impressive. People were putting more of their lives on the internet every day now with social networking sites, but there was always parts of your past you left in a dingy corner of your memory, collecting dust and not allowing the world to see.

 

He was already starting to feel his eyes droop as his exhaustion caught up with him, headache pressing insistently against his temples. They decided that they would use the cable cars as transit to get back to their hotel despite the fact that it was a rather roundabout route. When they came to the end of one track they found a relatively long line of people waiting. They joined the end, trying to duck out of the wind behind other strangers. Arthur wanted to ask more questions with this new allowance his mark had provided, but he felt uncomfortable asking questions in a throng of strangers.

 

It took about five minutes of nothing happening before a cable car was brought down to the very end of the track. Arthur watched with mild interest, growing impatient with the slow speed they ran these cars at. But his interest spiked when they stopped the car on a type of wooden turnstile and used handles to literally _turn_ that piece of track and the car around onto a different cable. Apparently Eames was just as intrigued because he spoke with a curiosity only marginally dulled by exhaustion, “Whoa, that was cool. Why did they do that?”

 

“I don’t know,” Arthur admitted, watching as they pulled the car back to the actual station section where people began to board.

 

“_You_? Don’t know something? I’m shocked!” Eames placed a hand over his chest like he was about to have a heart attack.

 

Arthur sent him an annoyed glare but before he could retort, someone in front of them in line turned back to them, “There are two cables along a route, one going each way. The car latches onto the cable and gets pulled in that direction, so when they turn around they have to move to the other cable.”

 

“Thank you, random stranger. You have been much more helpful than my travel companion,” Eames smiled at the woman before turning a playful smirk towards Arthur.

 

He just huffed and crossed his arms, “I cannot be expected to know every fact in the world.”

 

“Tsk, tsk,” was all Eames said in response, sending Arthur a quick wink before the line began to move forward.

 

It took another twenty minutes before he and Eames were finally at the front of the line, climbing onto the next cable car available. He was chilled to the bone from the wind by this point and he couldn’t stop shivering, which ruined his mood thoroughly. All of the benches inside the car were taken up so he and Eames stood on one of the steps by the front of the car, gripping the cold metal of the handle tightly.

 

A bell was struck loudly at the back and the car began traveling away from the station, being dragged by the cables running under the pavement of the road. The cable car did not move at the speed of traffic and you would not want to rely on it if you were in a rush, but Arthur still had to admit it was enjoyable to ride.

 

Many times he had done research on a place and gone into a dreamscape to experience it, not having the money to travel in person. But he was starting to realize that his research and imagination could never compare to real life. There were so many details lost in the dreamscape that you simply wouldn’t notice the absence of unless you were experiencing it in real life. The feel of the gold paint chipping under his palms as he held onto the pole, the clarity of the bell chiming for the benefit of other traffic on the road, the sound of excited chatter, the whirring sound of the cable below them, the insistent tug of gravity pulling him backwards as the cable car began its ascent up a steep hill, the comfort of the warm hand on his hip...

 

Wait.

 

Arthur jolted out of his musings and knocked the hand away from him, turning to glare quizzically at his travel companion. Eames blinked back at him innocently, “You were dazed out and I didn’t want you falling off the car.”

 

“I can keep my own balance, _thank you_,” Arthur spat, trying to push down the embarrassed flush that was threatening to take over his face.

 

“Yes, because you did such an outstanding demonstration of that this morning on the bus, didn’t you, darling?” Eames raised a knowing eyebrow, effectively silencing Arthur. He decided to simply ignore the man behind him and turn his attention forward again, watching the streets as they passed. It was edging towards late afternoon now, their walk having taken a long time, so the streets and sidewalks were all congested with people.

 

When they reached the end of the cable car line they hopped off and headed for the subway to get back to the hotel. He was pleased that he had gotten to ride a cable car, something that was considered a ‘must’ when you visited San Francisco, but he was too tired and irritable to wait for the one that would take them directly to their hotel. An attendant had walked along the line of people waiting, saying it would take about an hour, so with a shared look they had both decided to take the quick route.

 

Arthur sighed happily once they stepped back into the hotel, feeling the edge of his chill melt away. They stepped into a rather crowded elevator filled with a group of French tourists, all girls looking like they might still need a fake ID to drink here and speaking so quickly that Arthur could barely catch what they were saying. He caught ‘hot’ and ‘invite’ before the group giggled and one girl stepped closer to him, not that there was much spare room to begin with. “Excuse-moi?”

 

“Oui?” he responded carefully, knowing that his accent was not impressive.

 

Aimeriez-vous obtenir une boisson avec moi?” she spoke hurriedly before giggling again, smiling up at him through her dark lashes.

 

Arthur blinked, taken aback by the sudden offer, “Um...” he saw Eames raise an eyebrow at him across the tops of the girls’ heads. Apparently he didn’t speak any French and was completely lost on the current situation. “Merci, mais non,” he eventually answered.

 

The girl made a disappointed whine, sticking her lower lip out in a pout. Arthur knew it was supposed to draw his attention to the girl’s painted lips, but it just reminded him of the look Eames had given him the night before. Finally, she realized that he wasn’t going to change his mind and glanced over at Eames, “Et votre ami?”

 

“Non, il est aussi occupé,” he responded immediately.

 

“Oh...” the girl suddenly glanced between him and Eames slyly, “Je comprends, je comprends.”

 

The entire group tittered amongst themselves, nodding eagerly, and Arthur suddenly felt like he was missing something. The elevator slowed then and the door opened, the group beginning to file out onto their floor. “Arrêt, s’il vous plait!” he called after them, “Je ne comprends pas.”

 

The girl who had spoken to him turned back and gave him a wink before the elevator doors closed again and they continued upwards. “What the hell was that about?” Eames asked in the resulting silence, sounding curious and also miffed that he had been left out.

 

“They were asking me, well us, to get a drink with them,” Arthur explained, still confused about the girl’s response.

 

“And you said _no_?” Eames blurted out as the elevator chimed for their floor.

 

Arthur suddenly felt his eyes narrow and he walked out of the elevator briskly as soon as the door was open, “Well if you want to get a drink with them so badly go back to floor ten and find them. No one is stopping you.”

 

“Oh don’t be like that, love,” Eames rushed out of the elevator and tried to match his quick pace towards their rooms.

 

“I’m not being like _anything_, and stop calling me that.” Arthur stopped outside his door and pulled out his wallet, fishing out the forty dollars he owed Eames and his room key. He forcefully handed his mark the money before opening his door, “I’m going to be working all evening so don’t disturb me.”

 

The door was almost completely closed when he heard Eames ask, “But what about dinner?”

 

He pulled the door back open slightly to snap, “I’m sure one of those pretty French girls would love for you to ask.”

 

The door was slammed closed fully and he heard a frustrated sigh on the other side of his door, “What the hell just happened?” he heard Eames mutter to himself before he heard the man walk away, back in the direction of the elevators. Arthur leaned his forehead against the door, wondering the same thing himself.

 

The girls had caught him off guard and confused him, which had not helped his already irritable and tired mood. But that did not explain him snapping at Eames when he seemed to disapprove of Arthur refusing the girls’ offer. They had been rather beautiful so of course Eames would be interested, and there was nothing wrong with that. If Eames found a pretty girl to spend time with he had no right to be jealous. After all, he was lying to his mark, invading his privacy, and using him just to get a job. He was being selfish.

 

His wave of guilt quickly drowned out his possessiveness and he began removing pieces of his suit carefully, deciding that a hot shower would help warm him up and calm him down. He wondered briefly if Eames had, in fact, gone after the French tourists, but swiftly pushed the thought aside. It didn’t matter what he was doing. In fact, Arthur was beginning to think that he shouldn’t spend any more of his time with Eames at all.

 

It was obvious that he was not handling this job well, acting quite unprofessionally. He had never experienced this problem before, always able to maintain an impersonal and professional distance – not to mention physical distance – between himself and his mark. Hell, he had never even had much of a problem with guilt before this job, seeing the person as a mark rather than an individual. He did what he had to do, that was it.

 

But now he was getting too close to his mark, in every sense of the word. He was starting to see Eames as a person alongside being a mark, which was dangerous and meant that he would continue feeling guilty. And as he grew closer to him, which was inevitable when you were trying to learn everything you could about someone, his sense of possession would strengthen. 

 

He towelled his hair dry and dressed in silence, not hearing a single sound from the room next door to him. He felt his stomach drop and forced himself to focus on that pain for a minute, telling himself that the pain he felt was wrong, unprofessional. This helped his resolve to stop sightseeing with Eames and return to his normal – safer – methods of information gathering.

 

Arthur pulled out his laptop and began working, pushing through the exhaustion that was slowly creeping into his mind. He researched for hours, forgetting about finding dinner as the sun began to set, too engrossed in his work. The pressure of completing the job to the best of his abilities was still weighing down his mind, but now he also wanted to prove to himself that his normal methods were all that was necessary.

 

He began compiling lists of all the information he weeded from the internet, working backwards and branching out from what he already knew. It was amazing how much you could learn about someone with so little to start with as long as you knew how to look. He knew that Eames had been born in Brighton and had begun school there. He knew what schools the man had attended, as well as most of his jobs up until he was twenty five when Eames seemed to drop off the job records. Arthur wondered what sort of ‘acting’ jobs caused that.

 

Arthur found a long-forgotten article about Eames’s mother being killed and his father going to prison, leaving Eames alone with no siblings or close family. He forced himself to read over this and the relating articles impassively, though it was challenging with an image of Eames’s face telling him this personally swimming in the back of his mind.

 

He moved on quickly, collecting pages and pages of facts that would seem pointless on their own, but painted a vivid picture of his mark’s life when brought together. The cologne he favoured, the clothing labels he bought, the books that caught his interest – history and biographies, much to Arthur’s surprise – and other preferences that a credit trail could easily distinguish. Arthur could also see that Eames had a scheduled habit of visiting Brighton once a year each summer without fail.

 

He effortlessly pulled together enough information to impress anyone in the world, knowing Eames better than he probably knew himself. The problem, Arthur realized, was a lack of context. _Why_ did he enjoy reading histories and biographies? _Why_ did he visit Brighton yearly? Had his mark enjoyed school? What about the jobs he held as a teenager? What did he want to do now? What were his goals? What was he trying to achieve? Was he happy?

 

When Arthur thought about it, he understood that if he had read the article about Eames’s parents he would have known that his mark had had a troubled childhood. But he would not know how Eames had thought or acted at the time, or how he was dealing with it now. There was so much more he could learn by interacting personally with Eames, flushing out the details of the man’s life and making everything more real. If he could just find some way to remain emotionally distant from his mark, spending more time with Eames really would help him guarantee that his employer was impressed.

 

He eventually came to realize that someone had been knocking on his door for a while. He powered down his laptop and closed the lid before stretching out his tired muscles and heading towards the door. He pulled it open and stepped back quickly when he realized Eames was leaning on his doorframe, too close for his comfort. Arthur tried to hide his surprise, “What are you doing here?”

 

“I was wondering if you had eaten dinner already,” Eames remained leaning against the doorframe, looking a little nervous and uncomfortable. Though Arthur supposed he couldn’t really blame the man after how he had acted earlier.

 

“Actually, I forgot to get dinner,” Arthur suddenly realized, feeling his stomach twisting for attention and food, “I got caught up in work.”

 

“Same,” Eames admitted, straightening back into a standing position and shoving his hands in his sweater’s pockets. “I was wondering if you wanted to grab a bite with me. When I went down to book our tickets for Alcatraz tomorrow the concierge recommended a great place for big, cheap burgers and stuff across the street.”

 

Arthur swallowed when he realized that despite his uncalled-for attitude earlier, Eames had still planned on sightseeing with him tomorrow. He considered apologizing, but with Eames just standing in his doorway, asking him to go grab dinner, he got the feeling that it was already forgiven and forgotten. And with his recent revelation still swirling around in his head, he shrugged lightly, “Alright.”

 

He was too tired to bother changing out of his jeans and simply grabbed a sweater to throw over his shirt when he got his wallet and key. He was glad that ‘across the street’ was not an exaggeration and they were seated in a small booth less than five minutes later. It was warm and brightly lit in the small bistro with the speakers playing a classic rock station quietly. There were still a few other tables filled but it was relatively quiet since it was getting late.

 

Arthur couldn’t believe it when he checked his watch to find it was nearly nine at night when the server came over with their orders. He picked up the massive burger sitting in front of him and took a bite, groaning happily at the taste. He had not realized how hungry he was until he tasted food again. Eames seemed to devour his sandwich just as quickly and Arthur wondered what had diverted the man’s attention to make him forget to eat. They ate in silence until their sandwiches were gone and then began worked on their fries more slowly. “I didn’t go out with those girls, you know,” Eames suddenly spoke, dumping more salt on the basket of fries they were sharing.

 

Arthur felt a tiny flourish of relief that he immediately pushed aside. He grabbed the other shaker to scatter a light layer of pepper over the fries and shrugged offhandedly, “I don’t care.”

 

“Sure you don’t, pet,” Eames rolled his eyes before grabbing a handful of fries.

 

“I don’t!” Arthur restated, taking one fry at a time and watching Eames shove his handful into his mouth with mild disgust.

 

“Okay, whatever you say,” Eames relented with a chuckle and they finished off the pile of fries in silence. Arthur grabbed the bill when it came in order to pay the other man back for breakfast, sending Eames a quieting look before he could protest. It was not until they were approaching their hotel rooms that one of them spoke again, “So, Alcatraz and then maybe a Bay cruise tomorrow?”

 

Arthur looked over at Eames briefly, not understanding why this man would still want to sightsee with him after how he had acted today. He also took a moment to consider the choice of interacting with Eames or returning to his normal methods and doing his best to work without context. He decided that he was up for the challenge and nodded, “Yeah, sounds good.”

 

“Excellent,” Eames smiled and headed towards his own door, “Goodnight, darling.”

 

“Goodnight,” Arthur sighed and pushed his door open, closing it quietly behind him.

 


	4. Day Two: Eames

**Day Two**

** _Eames_ **

 

Eames’s alarm screamed at him and he was strongly tempted to smash it to pieces and chuck it off his balcony. He had always been capable of working on very little sleep, but that did not mean he enjoyed doing so. And he had definitely not gotten enough sleep the previous night for him to be pleased about his alarm going off at 5:45 in the morning. Nonetheless, he pulled himself from under the warm covers, clicked off the shrieking alarm, and stumbled into the shower.

 

The water spray helped in brushing away his tiredness and soon he was dressed and ready to go. He had been told that it could get very chilly along the waterfront so he decided to slip two sweaters over his shirt, hoping he wouldn’t die of the heat since it was early summer. After grabbing his wallet, key, glasses and maps he headed out of his room and proceeded to start knocking obnoxiously on Arthur’s door.

 

It took a while and his knuckles were beginning to hurt, but finally he heard someone fumbling with the lock and then Arthur pulling the door open slowly. “Morning, love!” he yelled happily, receiving a slammed door in the face for his trouble. He laughed outright and began knocking again, “Arthur...” he whined, “Open up. It’s time to start our adventure!”

 

“Eames...” the door was pulled open once again. Eames could tell that Arthur had attempted to flatten his hair and failed, a few curls still sticking up rebelliously, “It’s six in the morning. The sun _just_ rose.”

 

He wanted to groan at the reminder, forcefully shoving away the last feelings of tiredness and pulling up some imaginary energy, “Exactly! Like I said last night: ‘bright and early’. It is now both bright, and early.” Arthur gave him a glare that could have melted steel. Eames chose to ignore it. “Now don’t give me that look. We need to get some breakfast and get on our way.”

 

“Eames, let me explain something to you.” He watched as Arthur yawned and leaned against the doorframe, “It is six in the morning. I am jetlagged and exhausted. _Nowhere_ is going to be open to serve us breakfast and there’s a good chance the transit isn’t fully running yet.” Eames raised an eyebrow, wondering if that had been a challenge. “There is no _point_ in leaving the hotel yet, so I might as well sleep.”

 

“Alright, pet,” he leaned against the wall, trying to look let-down, “I just _assumed_ that you would be able to handle anything and be able to work around being tired.” He said it in a way that was the clearest challenge he could manage. “But if you need your beauty rest...” he glanced over slowly, “I guess I’ll just have to go out and be productive for the both of us.”

 

From the way his mark dressed and acted, Eames assumed that Arthur was the type of man who prided himself on being able to handle any situation – always being productive. And he had been entirely right as he saw Arthur narrow his eyes angrily. “Give me twenty minutes,” was all he received before the door was slammed in his face again.

 

Eames laughed and gave himself a mental pat on the back before heading down to the concierge. In one of his tourist booklets he had seen mention of some transit pass that worked for all forms of transit in the city and decided that they would be worth the price. He withdrew some money first and then bought two transit passes from the main desk before heading back up to his room. He checked his watch as his door clicked closed and realized with amusement that he still had ten minutes to wait.

 

He shoved his sleeves up his arms, the two sweaters a little too warm for his liking in the hotel. He decided to step out onto the balcony for a few minutes to cool off, scratching off the days for his transit pass while he was there. Suddenly there was a faint knocking at his door – four minutes early – so Eames closed his balcony door and headed to the door. “Honestly it took you long enough, darling. You’re like a girl getting ready for prom...” Eames was already speaking jokingly when he opened the door but trailed off mid-sentence at seeing the man standing in his doorway. “The hell? Are we going to a wedding?”

 

Eames allowed his gaze to skim over Arthur’s form dangerously, taking in the perfectly slicked back hair and the clearly custom-made suit that brought out the man’s dark eyes. He distantly heard Arthur’s defensive voice, “This is a perfectly adequate suit for casual occasions.”

 

He was still distracted when he retorted, entirely caught up in the capturing view standing nervously in front of him. “The words ‘suit’ and ‘casual’ do not belong in the same sentence, Arthur. When you go sightseeing you wear normal clothes, like jeans and t-shirts and sweaters.”

 

“Says who?” Arthur crossed his arms in defiance, pulling expensive material across his strong shoulders and chest.

 

Eames forced himself away from his inappropriate thoughts - thoughts that maybe he should just _help_ Arthur get out of that suit... “The majority of the world, mate,” he eventually responded, pulling his gaze away and walking out of his room. He rolled his eyes, partially at Arthur and partially for his own benefit; why was he arguing this point? The man was just providing extra eye-candy for the day.

 

“Yes, well I’m not like the majority of the world,” Arthur stepped away from him slightly as he walked into the alcove.

 

 “Yeah, I think I’m starting to realize that, darling.” This thought caused Eames to smile slightly to the carpet before he sent Arthur a smirk and began walking towards the elevators. He had already checked to make sure the hotel restaurant was open when he had come down to get the passes, so when he led Arthur across the lobby to the restaurant host he couldn’t stop himself from glancing back cockily, “See?”

 

Arthur gave him an eye roll but didn’t say anything as they sat down at a small booth. They had the entire restaurant to themselves, which was surprisingly enjoyable. There was no noise and no pressure to rush; he could simply enjoy sitting and eating breakfast with his mark. Their food arrived just as he was warning Arthur that he was going to freeze in what he was wearing. “It’s the middle of summer,” Arthur didn’t bother looking up at him.

 

Eames snatched away the salt and pepper shakers right before the other man could grab them, stealing his attention away, “Thank you for stating the obvious, Arthur, but apparently it gets really windy and damp along the water.”

 

“Thank you for the concern, Eames,” Arthur spoke in a tone that expressed anything _but _gratitude. Eames felt the shakers disappear from his grasp quickly, his hands holding thin air. “But I’ll be fine.” Eames just shrugged, realizing that Arthur was too stubborn to take his advice; his mark would probably rather die of hypothermia rather than grab a coat and prove him right. “So what brings you to San Francisco?”

 

“Business,” Eames spoke truthfully while working on a mouthful of toast.

 

“What sort of business?” Arthur pressed, looking a little too interested.

 

Eames glanced over at him slowly, using the fact that he was still chewing as an excuse not to answer right away. What was he going to say? Obviously he couldn’t tell Arthur that he was a dream worker – a forger – here to steal his persona. But it felt wrong to blatantly lie as well.  He decided on the safest half-truth he could come up with, “Acting, I guess you could say.”

 

“And yet you have a full week to sightsee?” Arthur asked him sceptically.

 

“Well...” Eames trailed off, shoving more food in his mouth to stall. “I like to get a feel for the role before I take it on, you know?” There, perfectly truthful _and_ it was vague enough to not get him in trouble.

 

But Arthur regarded him carefully anyway, looking like he was calculating a complex math equation in his head, “You don’t strike me as someone who is famous.”

 

Ouch, double blow. Putting him on the spot _and_ insulting him. Well played. Eames graced his mark with a grin, pushing away his unease and replacing it with a much-practiced confidence, “Oh, I’m on my way, love. Mark my words.” He signed off on the bill before Arthur could realize it was on the table and then dragged him out of the hotel. “Hm...I wonder what direction north is...” he mused to himself as he pulled out a map he had shoved into a pocket earlier.

 

Insults were given, the map was nearly torn in two, and Eames’s masculinity was challenged before they finally made it to the #1 bus stop on Market Street with the help of the hotel doorman’s directions. Directions had never really been his strong suit, and he knew that, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t wanted to be in charge of leading Arthur through the city. He sat in rather sullen silence despite Arthur telling him to stop moping, his mark appearing both frustrated and amused.

 

When the bus came towards them they both stood up and Eames remembered to hand over the second transit pass. He explained how to use it and showed Arthur his own as the bus pulled up, watching curiously as a shudder of discomfort passed through Arthur as he scraped his nails over the card. “How much do I owe you for this?” Arthur asked him as they moved towards the back of the bus.

 

“Forty dollars, when you get the chance. I picked them up at the concierge this morning while you were grooming,” he smirked teasingly at the other man as he gripped the handrails tightly. He watched as Arthur nodded and held one handrail loosely, busy putting away his pass as the bus engine started up. Eames could see it happening in his mind already, judging the situation, so he was prepared to act when the bus began up a steep hill.

 

He held tighter to the handrail with one hand and released his other hand just as Arthur toppled backwards. He had been ready to catch Arthur and pull the man against him, but he had not been prepared for the realization at how perfect everything suddenly felt; as if in all the chaos of life he had briefly found himself exactly where he was meant to be. Eames held Arthur against his chest, the man’s designer jacket bunched up where Eames had haphazardly wrapped an arm around his waist. “Whoa, be careful love,” he chuckled lightly.

 

Arthur’s hands were clutching his sweater tightly, wrinkling the fabric, until the bus finally slowed to a stop at another station when he pulled away. Eames immediately missed the heat that their combined bodies created but he allowed the embarrassed man to pull away and grip the bus handrails with both hands. Arthur refused to talk to him again, and would not even meet his gaze when they transferred to a different bus.

 

With his mark sitting stiffly beside him on the new bus, the Golden Gate Bridge coming into view over the tops of trees, Eames was silently chiding himself for not immediately pushing away the memory of Arthur pressed against him. This was his mark, a man he was taking advantage of and lying to. Wasn’t that bad enough? He shouldn’t be selfish and suddenly want Arthur in more ways. It was dangerous as well, getting this close to his mark.

 

They were dropped off at one end of the bridge and they made their way over to the small park’s railing. A harsh wind wrapped around them viciously and Eames glanced over at Arthur worriedly, but the other man just ignored him. He was getting rather sick of the silent treatment, even if Arthur _was_ feeling embarrassed, and when he saw some other tourists posing in front of the bridge he thought of a neutral conversation starter, “Do you have a camera?”

 

“No, do you?” Arthur responded easily now that the bus-cuddle incident was being pushed aside.

 

“Nope; better stare at it until it’s imprinted in our brains,” Eames smiled, glad that the awkward tension was gone and turned to look at the bridge. He looked over the famous landmark for a moment and then snuck a glance at Arthur. What he saw there made him relinquish his full attention to his mark’s face.

 

There, on that normally neutral or annoyed face was a look of unconcealed awe and appreciation. Eames could see those eyes, flashing hazel in the sunlight and flickering quickly as they took in the view. His mark’s mouth was relaxed with a small smile curling up one corner of his lips. Arthur looked like he was inspecting and logging away every aspect of the scene in front of him, overwhelmed in the best possible way. Eames tried to memorize that face and posture, entirely captivated.

 

Arthur eventually turned away from the bridge to look at him and caught Eames staring. But Eames couldn’t bring himself to feel guilty and Arthur did not seem to mind so he merely laughed and looked back at the bridge as ordered. They began walking down the sidewalk along one side of the bridge, avoiding fellow tourists and bicyclists sharing the pavement. It was extremely chilly on the bridge, nothing to protect them from the wind, but Arthur refused to admit he was cold when Eames asked. Instead, his mark shoved his hands into his coat, “So this is your first time here. Did you do much traveling before?”

 

Eames laughed bitterly, buried memories slowly resurfacing, “No. When I was growing up I never saw anything more than London and Brighton, and whatever happened to be along the way between them.” His anger pushed him to continue speaking before he truly considered the fact that he was talking to a near-stranger, “We were always poor and my dad was a tosser who used up all our money before he died. Good riddance to him, too,” he spat over the edge of the railing.

 

“What did he do that was so bad?” Arthur looked over at him curiously, sounding almost as uncomfortable as Eames felt.

 

“Oh you know...” He trailed off, suddenly feeling a wave of anger and irritation towards his mark even though he knew it was misdirected anger brought up from the memories. He was here to steal a persona, not get his past picked apart and prodded by a stranger. What right did this suit-obsessed man have to ask him questions like this? But when he glanced over briefly he saw so many vivid emotions on that face, entirely different from what his teasing caused. Maybe he would just have to sacrifice some of his privacy to see a wider range of emotions, “The usual fucked up shit. Verbal and physical abuse, disowned me, killed my mum.”

 

“He...he killed—how can you say that so calmly?” Arthur blurted out loudly. Eames realized that the man had stopped walking and turned to regard Arthur self-consciously. Eames had never really told anyone about his past like this before; he was not one to share his suffering with others. After all, what could they really do to help?

 

“Well he’s dead now, pet. Nothing more to be done, right?” he tried to speak easily, as if this was no big deal even though Eames was exposing a very private part of himself. He saw so many emotions crossing that formerly neutral face: shock, horror, regret, sadness, guilt...he was almost overwhelmed by how much Arthur was expressing at once. He also caught a look of morbid curiosity; Arthur wanted to ask his next question as much as he wanted to drop the entire subject. “You can ask your next question, it’s alright.”

 

He heard Arthur take a deep breath, “How did he die?”

 

Eames turned his body away from the other man, looking out across the water as he spoke. He didn’t want to see that look of fake sympathy so many people had mastered for occasions like this. “He shoved a bunch of pills down his throat. I’m pretty sure he died to spite me.”

 

“I’m sorry,” he barely heard Arthur’s quiet voice over the howling wind as they stood by the railing together, separate from the rest of the world for a painful moment.

 

Eames turned to face his mark despite his better judgement, shocked and confused by the man’s words, “Sorry for what? You didn’t shove those pills down his throat.”

 

“I’m sorry for bringing it up,” Arthur explained, staring at him. Eames swallowed at the look, having studied facial expressions long enough to notice the subtle differences between fake and genuine sympathy. There was no hint of pleading in those soft eyes, silently begging forgiveness. Nor was there any dullness, indicating boredom and a sense of uninterested duty. Arthur’s face was carefully neutral but those eyes were warm, sincere, and concerned.

 

He felt a small wave of pain, that look making him feel like it was alright for him to be vulnerable...still hurt, because that sincere look also made him feel warm, safe. He allowed it for half a second before he pushed the dangerous feelings aside, rolling his eyes with a laugh to return to the safer emotions, “If I didn’t want to tell you then I wouldn’t have. So don’t worry about it, pet. It feels good to finally tell someone this stuff, you know?” he stared intently at Arthur, realizing that he was being entirely honest. “Someone who actually seems interested...” _someone who seems to actually...care_?

 

Arthur would not meet his gaze so Eames placed a hand between the man’s shoulder blades, giving him a tiny shove into movement.  He was ready for the serious and downcast mood to evaporate and for things to become light-hearted once more. “Come on, let’s cross this thing before we turn to ice.” They were about two thirds across the bridge when he noticed Arthur shivering violently, “Do you want my second sweater?”

 

“No, I’m fine,” Arthur spoke stubbornly through his chattering teeth.

 

Eames gave up as they continued walking, knowing that his mark was too headstrong to admit defeat, even if it meant he’d probably get himself hypothermia in the process. However, Eames attempted to subtly put his body between Arthur and the wind, hoping it would make the trip at least marginally more bearable for the other man. They finally made it to the other side of the bridge, feeling accomplished, and Eames spotted a bus stop. “Let’s take the bus back. I’m bloody well freezing out here!” He wasn’t. In fact, he was nearly sweating under all his layers; but Arthur wouldn’t make it all the way back across the bridge with what he was currently wearing.

 

“If you’re cold then I _suppose_ we can...” Arthur spoke in a nettling tone, allowing Eames to drag him into the glass shelter.

 

Eames just laughed, amused that Arthur was trying to turn his own challenge tactics against him. “Stop trying to challenge me into walking another two miles in the freezing cold and sit your arse down,” he pointed at the bench. Arthur ignored him, of course, but Eames didn’t really mind.

 

The bus ride back was slow but enjoyable, the back of the bus bouncing around like a roller coaster. Arthur seemed less thrilled, but was clearly just as amused by Eames’s enjoyment as the San Francisco residents riding the bus with them. Eames was relieved that the tone of their sightseeing had brightened along with the San Francisco sky as they moved back into the downtown area. They eventually got off and found a place to buy lunch before locating a bench in the sun, soaking up the heat greedily.

 

He was about halfway through his sandwich, replaying their conversation on the bridge thoughtfully. It had been uncomfortable and awkward to tell Arthur, who really was nothing more than a stranger at this point, about his past. But somehow the man had also made him feel like everything would be alright, the painful conversation turning almost therapeutic. And there was no way he could get around the fact that the conversation had sparked more emotions in his mark for Eames to study in five minutes than he had managed in the last day and a half. It seemed worth the sacrifice. “You can ask more questions, you know. I can tell you have more.”

 

“But why would you want to tell a stranger all of these personal things about yourself? I don’t want you to talk about something that will make you uncomfortable...” Arthur trailed off, suddenly looking a little guilty.

 

Eames shrugged lightly, having already made his decision. “Once in a while it’s nice to talk to a stranger, pet. Objective opinion and all that,” he shoved the rest of his sandwich into his mouth, realizing immediately that he had probably taken too much at once. But he struggled through and coughed, finally able to breathe again. He was still a little surprised about why Arthur seemed so interested in him, but he figured he would make the best out of a confusing situation. “I don’t know how interesting I could possibly be but I’ll answer every question I feel like answering.”

 

“Fair enough,” Arthur nodded as he finished his own sandwich neatly and threw out the wrapper. They both admitted that they were getting tired so they headed towards the end of one of the cable car routes, deciding to use them to return to the hotel. Unfortunately, when they arrived they found a rather long line of people waiting and the cars were sent away sporadically.

 

Eames could tell that Arthur was getting frustrated with the wait, the normally patient man irritable from the cold and exhaustion. So when they watched the cable car attendants turn the car onto a new cable and Arthur admitted that he did not know why, he took advantage of the moment. “_You_? Don’t know something? I’m shocked!” he placed a hand on his chest, grinning.

 

Arthur did not take to the teasing well, appearing even more annoyed when a stranger in front of them in line turned around and shared their knowledge. They fell into testy silence, waiting another twenty minutes until they finally got to climb onto the next cable car. Arthur stood in front of him on the wide platform step, shivering constantly as they both held onto the poles. A bell chimed at the back of the car and they were off.

 

Eames watched while Arthur held onto the pole tightly, staring out at their surroundings as the cable car made its way up another steep hill. He saw those chestnut brown eyes glaze over, Arthur clearly lost in thought, and Eames began to worry that the man would tumble off with his lack of concentration. Hesitantly, he placed one hand on Arthur’s hip, holding him in place as the car rumbled along its route.

 

He raised an eyebrow, surprised at first that Arthur was allowing the touch at all. But a few minutes later Eames realized that it had been allowed because Arthur had not realized it. He felt his mark physically jolt out of his thoughts, still trembling from the cold, and pull away from him with a glare. “You were dazed out and I didn’t want you falling off the car,” Eames defended innocently.

 

Eames could see the tiny hint of a blush staining the man’s cheeks red. “I can keep my own balance, _thank you_,” Arthur practically snapped.

 

He gave Arthur a knowing look, “Yes, because you did such an outstanding demonstration of that this morning on the bus, didn’t you, darling?” He watched as the other man opened his mouth to retort but then snap it closed again, embarrassed, and turn to stare ahead for the rest of the ride.

 

They took the subway back to the hotel from there, both of them sighing in obvious relief when they stepped back into the warmth. An elevator was about to leave so they dashed inside quickly, only then realizing that it was filled with a bunch of French college girls. Eames knew next to no French, and the group of excited girls were speaking too quickly for him to have any hope of catching a conversation.

 

Suddenly the group giggled as one, group mentality creeping Eames out slightly, and one girl stepped closer to Arthur, practically pressed against his mark. She spoke French, looking up at Arthur through her long lashes, and much to Eames’s surprise Arthur spoke French in return. Oh sure, the accent wasn’t perfect, but the other man dropped the pitch of his voice slightly to speak and Eames felt butterflies in his stomach. He allowed the sound of Arthur’s voice to wrap around his brain, deciding then and there that he wanted his mark to talk to him in French for the rest of the week even if he wouldn’t understand a word.

 

Arthur paused and looked over at him, Eames raising a questioning eyebrow overtop of the girls’ heads. Arthur did not explain what the conversation was about though, and turned his attention back to the girl. The speaking continued, Eames a little miffed at being left out even if he did feel like he was listening to honey. The group giggled again and began nodding as the elevator slowed and they slipped out. Arthur called something after them but allowed the door to close. “What the hell was that?” Eames finally asked.

 

“They were asking me...well us, to get a drink with them,” Arthur told him blandly.

 

“And you said _no_?” Eames leaned back against the glass wall in shock. He had already gathered that Arthur was a relatively private person since the first time he had first seen him. But he was still somewhat amazed that Arthur had not taken the girls’ offer. After all, he was young and single...why wouldn’t he agree?

 

Arthur narrowed his eyes at him before stalking out of the elevator door. “Well if you want to get a drink with them so badly, go back to floor ten and find them. No one is stopping you.”

 

“Oh don’t be like that, love,” Eames struggled to meet the man’s pace, bewildered about the sudden turn of events. Why did Arthur think he wanted to go get drinks with them? And why was he being so snappish?

 

“I’m not being like _anything_, and stop calling me that,” his mark snarled at him, stopping outside of his door to viciously pull out his wallet. Two twenty dollar bills were shoved into Eames’s hands before he could speak and then Arthur was opening his door. “I’m going to be working all evening so don’t disturb me.”

 

“But...” Eames muttered hurriedly before the door was closed completely, “What about dinner?”

 

“I’m sure one of those pretty French girls would love for you to ask,” was the only response he received before the door was slammed shut.

 

Eames sighed heavily in frustration. “What the hell just happened?” he asked himself before he turned and stalked back towards the elevators. He didn’t feel like going to his room right then, not wanting to feel confined while he was pissed off. And it wouldn’t help his temptation towards kicking Arthur’s door down and demanding an explanation, being only one room away.

 

Instead he rode the elevator down to the lobby. He found that all of the comfortable couches were occupied by a large group waiting to check into the hotel so he continued farther along the lobby to sit by the small man-made creek. The marble edge was not comfortable to sit on, hard and cold, so it did nothing to appease Eames’s mood. But it did force him to think rather than drift off to easier thoughts.

 

Arthur had assumed that he was the one who would want to go out and get a drink with the girls, or get dinner with them, and something about that had infuriated the man. Eames wondered briefly if Arthur had been jealous, but that seemed like a ridiculous notion. If Arthur was jealous of the idea that the girls would want to spend time with him rather than Arthur, his mark was an idiot. It had been clear that the girl had approached him, not Eames, and Eames had also made it quite clear that he was not interested.

 

Well actually...he hadn’t made that very clear. But that would lead to the assumption that Arthur had been jealous of _him_ wanting to spend time with the girls, which was even more farfetched and self-centred to consider. The only thing Eames seemed good at in terms of Arthur was pissing him off, so it would be safe to assume that his mark would be more than pleased to have him disappear for an evening. And beyond that, Arthur practically hissed at him when he touched the man, making it very clear that he was uninterested in physical contact, let alone anything more.

 

He growled in frustration and pushed himself off the marble stiffly. He kept imagining that final look Arthur had given him before slamming the door, trying to examine and read the details. But it wasn’t giving him any answers. Eames knew another method to find some answers and began heading back across the lobby. On his way he was diverted by the concierge desk, booking two tickets for Alcatraz tomorrow. He wasn’t quite sure why he bothered since at that very moment it looked like he would be sightseeing alone and stalking Arthur from afar for the rest of the week. He chalked it up to blind hope and headed up to his room.

 

When he arrived he utilized every lock on his door and balcony before pulling the curtains closed and opening up the safe. He slipped the thin silver briefcase out, locking the safe again immediately before carrying the PASIV machine to the bed. Eames threw off his two sweaters so he wouldn’t overheat before lying down in the middle of the soft duvet, adjusting the device’s settings accordingly. He did not have any high-grade chemicals at his disposal since those could only be obtained specially for a job unless you were wealthy enough to buy it independently. Because of this he had to give himself thirty minutes on the machine to get an hour in the dream. Not the hugest issue he might have to face, considering the fact that he was more or less ‘on vacation’ in a comfortable bed, but it certainly ate up time quickly.

 

He set the machine for one hour and carefully slipped the needle under his skin before starting up the machine and drifting away. When he blinked his eyes open he was right back in his room, not wanting to waste time creating a new dreamscape when all he truly needed was a mirror. Eames pulled himself off the bed and wandered over to the full length mirror by the front door.

 

He immediately took on Arthur’s appearance, perfect suit and all. The basic appearance was always the easiest to forge, though the details could prove challenging. Something you might overlook as ‘unimportant’ might be the solitary detail that will sell your persona to your mark. He held his posture stiffly; hands in pockets as he regarded Arthur in the mirror as the details slowly came into place.

 

Hair slicked back, mostly straight by nature but also fighting off a few deviant curls. Face smooth and flawless, always looking recently shaved. Lips thin in neutrality, though hinting at the ability for more. Dark brown eyes streaked with hazel when the light and the moment were right. Eames felt himself raising a smaller hand and running it along a proud cheekbone carefully for a moment before he dropped his hand back to his side.

 

Still angry and confused, Eames created that final expression on Arthur’s face before his mark had slammed the door in his face. It was not difficult to mimic since the image was imprinted on his memory. It was a rather ugly expression, not something he would imagine Arthur possessing. He tilted his head from side to side, studying the details of the look and resulting posture for clues.

 

His whole body was stiff, though his shoulders were hunched up excessively, displaying discomfort. His mouth was tight and turned down slightly, showing anger. The eyes were hard and distant, guarded and…hurt? He was also staring at himself in the mirror with a slightly predatory look…possessive. Eames shifted his weight from one foot to the other uncomfortably. It was clearly a look of jealousy, but the possessive glint in those eyes made him reconsider the idea that it might be directed towards him.

 

This thought both confused him more and gave him a glimmer of hope. He could work with this. He wanted this. He wanted Arthur to stare at him like that, to want to spend time with him and keep Eames for himself. It would make his job much easier, first of all, if Arthur did not want to let Eames out of his sight since that would, in turn, keep Arthur in _his_ sight. But deep down, Eames also felt a small bundle of nerves in his stomach at the thought of where that look could potentially lead.

 

He knew this was an unprofessional train of thought he should nip in the bud, he _knew_ that…but he didn’t want to. He had gotten close to a few marks before on previous jobs; maybe not this close, but close enough to know the feelings that got dragged up when you became so intimately acquainted with someone that you could _become_ them. However, despite that past knowledge, he couldn’t help but feel that Arthur was different and worth the risk of getting closer.

 

He _knew_ it would never work, because Arthur was Eames’s mark, and Eames was lying to him and taking advantage of him. He knew that after this week was over he would return to his employer and never see the man again. And he knew that the closer he got to this man, the more he learned and shared in return, the more painful it would be when the dream inevitably shattered around him.

 

But Eames never claimed to always listen to common sense. He liked mixing business with pleasure, especially when it came to Arthur. He would enjoy this week-long dream while he could and prepare to pick up the splintered pieces later.

 

Mind made up, Eames spent the rest of his time in the dream trying to recreate some of the other expressions Arthur had displayed during their sightseeing that day. Exasperation over Eames’s missing map abilities, embarrassment over Eames touching him, guilt, regret, awe, concern, sympathy, relief…It was easier to mimic the looks now that he looked like Arthur, but there was still something missing from some of them; subtle details that made Arthur a unique and challenging puzzle.

 

When his time ran out on the machine and he blinked his eyes open again he immediately reset the device and went back under, determined to pin down those elusive expressions. It was still late afternoon in the dream, sun streaming in through the balcony windows, so when Eames woke up a second time he was surprised to realize the sun had long since set and it was now night.

 

Immediately he felt a painful wave of hunger twist his stomach and he quickly packed up the PASIV device. He slipped it back into the safe delicately before yanking on a sweater and picking up his wallet, remembering that the concierge had mentioned a burger bistro across the street. Feeling brave, decision already made, Eames closed his door and moved to 1731.

 

He leaned against the doorframe and began knocking repeatedly, not surprised when it seemed to take the room’s occupant a minute to make it over to the door. He eventually heard soft footfalls on the carpet coming towards the door before Arthur blinked up at him. The other man stepped back slightly in surprise, probably due to Eames’s close proximity, before speaking, “What are you doing here?”

 

Eames just remained where he was, leaning by the edge of Arthur’s personal bubble nervously, wondering if he was going to get rejected and another door slamming in his face. “I was wondering if you had eaten dinner already.”

 

Arthur’s stomach growled, answering for him. “Actually, I forgot to get dinner,” Arthur spoke redundantly, “I got caught up in work.”

 

“Same,” Eames nodded and moved back slightly, not wanting to crowd his mark any more at the moment. “I was wondering if you wanted to grab a bite with me. When I went down to book our tickets for Alcatraz tomorrow the concierge recommended a great place for big, cheap burgers and stuff across the street.”

 

Arthur blinked at him silently for a moment, looking confused, regretful, and maybe even a little hopeful. It seemed like Arthur had assumed Eames would still be pissed off about earlier. Finally, he got a nod as Arthur went to go find a sweater and his wallet, “Alright.”

 

Eames was already glad for the recommendation the moment he smelt the food in the kitchen. It was warm and quiet in the restaurant, not many people eating dinner at this late hour. But it was nice to feel like they had the place to themselves, just like at breakfast. They both remained quiet, uncomfortably so, as they focused on ordering and eating their sandwiches.

 

He could feel the nerves and tension coming off the other man so when he finished his burger and began pouring salt on their basket of fries, he decided to reassure Arthur, “I didn’t go out with those girls, you know.”

 

Arthur pointedly avoided his look and shrugged lightly while reaching for the pepper shaker, “I don’t care.”

 

Eames rolled his eyes at the statement because as soon as Arthur sat back in his booth, Eames could _see_ that the man’s shoulders had dropped. His mark’s entire posture had relaxed and that complex face had calmed, though you wouldn’t have considered the face troubled beforehand without the comparison. Eames grabbed a handful of fries happily, “Sure you don’t, pet.”

 

“I don’t!” Arthur stated more insistently, munching on one fry at a time.

 

“Okay,” Eames chuckled, realizing that there was no point in arguing further, “Whatever you say.” They ate the rest of their fries in silence, though this time it was a compatible silence. Arthur grabbed the bill and they headed back to the hotel, both of them clearly ready to sleep. “So, Alcatraz and then maybe a Bay cruise tomorrow?” he clarified right before passing Arthur’s door for his own.

 

Arthur watched him for a brief moment, absentmindedly pulling his key out of his pocket. “Yeah,” his mark nodded, “Sounds good.”

 

“Excellent,” Eames didn’t stop the pleased smile that took over his face, heading towards his own room to sleep. “Goodnight, darling.”

 

“Goodnight,” he heard Arthur respond quietly before they both closed their doors for the night.

 


	5. Day Three: Arthur

**Day Three**

** _Arthur_ **

 

Arthur had fallen behind the tour group slightly, staring in at a jail cell through the tightly-knitted bars. Once in a while he had to remind himself that he was working himself into an illegal profession. He needed to show himself why he had to be cautious and take care in his work. Right now he was trying to imagine what it would be like to be stuck living in such a tiny cell for years of your life, barely able to glimpse the sun.

 

He felt the warmth of another body moving up beside him and he glanced to the right to see Eames peering in through the bars beside him. “Why exactly did you wear a suit to a prison, doll?”

 

“What do you mean?” Arthur raised one eyebrow, not understanding this new attack on his choice in attire.

 

“You look like a lawyer here to visit a client,” Eames stated simply. “A prison isn’t really your top choice for places to wear a suit.”

 

“In case you forgot, Eames, this is no longer a functional prison. There are no convicts being kept here,” Arthur glanced pointedly at the empty jail cell.

 

“That doesn’t make you look any less like a crooked lawyer,” the other man shrugged. Arthur just sighed, seeing no point in continuing the argument, and pulled away from the cell bars.

 

They caught up to the rest of the group just as the guide was showing them the cell Al Capone had stayed in during his sentence at Alcatraz. The guide, a young man who towered over them and looked like he was better suited to be a prison guard, gave them a disapproving glance before continuing on with his story.

 

They maintained a safe distance from the guard/guide as they were led throughout the rest of the Alcatraz prison. The group was shown the cells of other famous inmates, like George “Machine Gun” Kelly, Robert Franklin Stroud, Bumpy Johnson, Mickey Cohen, James “Whitey” Bulger, Arthur R. “Doc” Barker, and Alvin Karpis. The guide informed them that Alvin had apparently spent nearly twenty six years at Alcatraz. “You know, they should lock you up in here, darling,” Eames spoke lightly as they stepped into an open cell to experience what it was like.

 

He felt a wave of claustrophobia wash over him, easily able to touch both walls as he reached his hands out and Eames standing between him and the exit. It was made worse by the sudden feeling of warm breath tickling the back of his neck. “And why would that be?” he swallowed, forcing himself to remain calm, knowing that Eames was just teasing and didn’t actually know about his career goals.

 

“Because you’re so gorgeous it should be illegal,” Eames sent him a wink, smile playing on those full lips. The other man did not manage to dodge out of the way fast enough to avoid Arthur’s hard punch to the arm. “Ow, love! I’m just speaking the truth,” the other man rubbed his arm in pain.

 

Arthur just rolled his eyes, ignoring the flutter in his stomach. He tried to come up with a retort but everything he thought up would just embarrass him more. So instead he sent Eames a warning glare and brushed by the man silently, walking quickly to catch up with the tour guide. Eames rushed up to his side, easily matching his pace with a triumphant grin plastered over his face.

 

After that the tour led them through the mess hall and the rest of the former-prison. Everything was chilled and damp, the island sitting in the middle of the San Francisco Bay and getting pelted by fog and wind. Some of the stone was eroding slowly and the metal on the bars of high windows were rusting. Effort was still put into maintaining the prison and the rest of the island, but less work needed to be done now that the bars and stones were not holding in notorious criminals.

 

When the tour was finished they were allowed free reign to explore the rest of the island at their own pace, branching off from the other tourist families. It was already approaching lunch time by that point since Eames had booked seats on a later ferry from pier 33. Arthur had been thankful for the opportunity to sleep in, still feeling well rested even as the wind enveloped him. But since they had such a late start it felt like the day was already half over.

 

They grabbed a quick lunch from the overpriced vendors on the island, walking towards the lighthouse as they ate. “Did you know,” Arthur began as they diverted onto the path leading up to the lighthouse. It was not too busy at the moment since most of the other tourists on the island had young children to feed, “That this is the oldest lighthouse on the west coast of the United States.”

 

“Really?” Eames hummed in mild interest, taking another bite of his hot dog. “Tell me, darling. How is it that you can remember all of that information tucked away in your mind?”

 

“I have a good memory for facts,” Arthur spoke honestly, shrugging as he finished off his sandwich.

 

“You must,” Eames grunted in agreement, “You better put that to good use.” Eames was struggling to pull the heavy door at the base of the lighthouse open against the wind so Arthur went over and helped the other man until they found themselves tucked in a small circular room, the wind howling outside.

 

He glanced over at Eames slowly, a strange mix of guilt and pride swirling around inside him. True, he was using his memory against Eames, which obviously had not been the man’s aim with his words. But at the same time, he was doing exactly what his mark was telling him to do – put it to good use and not waste it. It was unsettling how bipolar his feelings were becoming depending on whether he viewed Eames as a mark or a man, so he turned away from Eames, who was staring at him curiously.

 

An elderly attendant sat on a chair at the base of the stairs, smiling at them in welcome. “Only stairs I’m afraid, sirs, if you wish to get to the top.”

 

They could barely hear her over the whistling wind, her voice fading just like her snow-white hair. But Eames just grinned when he caught the words, “That’s alright, doll, we like a good challenge, don’t we Arthur?” the man dropped an arm around his shoulders good-naturedly. Arthur endured it sullenly to appear friendly.

 

The old woman looked between them for a brief moment before smiling wider and nodding. “Well enjoy, you two. And if you’re interested in hearing a bit more about the history I can share some knowledge when you get back down.”

 

“Thank you,” he smiled and slipped out from under Eames’s arm, heading up the stairs first. The spiralling staircase was so narrow that his mark was forced to trail behind him, both of them plastering themselves against the cold stone of the wall when other tourists passed them heading downwards.

 

When they arrived at the top of the lighthouse they found themselves looking through the glass walls of the observation deck just below the actual light. He followed the railing slowly, traveling the full 360 degrees to take in the view. You could see everything from up here. The Golden Gate Bridge, half swallowed by fog as usual, the far coastline where Sausalito could be found, the San Francisco Bay, San Francisco and downtown itself. It was a magnificent view.

 

He eventually stopped circling where he could see the city and the Golden Gate Bridge at the same time, studying the details of the scene. From this angle he could even see a few of the streets climbing up the San Francisco hills, looking almost like it shouldn’t be possible. He was distracted from his thoughts though when Eames sidled up beside him, arm unnecessarily brushing his own as they both leaned against the railing. “We’re all alone, sweetheart.”

 

The words and feeling of that warm breath against his ear caused him to shudder involuntary before he shifted away, putting a few inches of distance between them. “Yes, so I was thinking now might be a good time for another question.”

 

“Oh?” Eames raised an amused eyebrow, not seeming to mind the change in tone, “What did you have in mind?”

 

Arthur continued staring out at the cityscape while he debated about what questions to ask. There were two key problems you had to deal with when learning information through interaction rather than through basic research. Firstly, while I computer would take every question as independent from one another, a person would get suspicious if too many personal or serious questions were asked in a row. He had to mix up the important questions between strings of trivial questions.

 

Secondly, he had to be extremely cautious about what he asked and how he asked it. Since he had already collected a lot of information on his mark privately, it was imperative that Eames not know Arthur had been researching him behind his back. It would not end well if he asked Eames about attending a school the man had never mentioned to him. “Well…” he began carefully, aware that Eames was watching him closely, “Based on our previous topic of facts and knowledge, I was wondering what sort of books you liked to read.”

 

He knew that the knowledge of Eames’s preferred reading material would not be very helpful in a job, but he was genuinely curious after his research yesterday. “Wow, from questions about my messed up family to my choice in literature, quite a change,” Eames raised an eyebrow at him before turning to stare through the glass thoughtfully. “I suppose biographies would be my favourite - histories as well, but only when they’re talking about a historical figure.”

 

“Why are you interested in those?” Arthur asked the question that had originally been on his mind.

 

Eames shrugged, “I guess I just love studying people. They fascinate me,” Eames glanced over at him, skimming his eyes over Arthur’s form in a similar manner to the morning before.

 

“Sounds like you should have gone into studying Psychology rather than acting,” Arthur spoke through his moment of discomfort. He wanted to ask Eames specifically what sort of ‘acting’ he did, but that might give away the fact that Arthur had tried pulling up his mark’s job records. So instead he settled for a leading question in the general topic of jobs.

 

“I’ve read a few books on it,” Eames admitted, “But studying social interaction, social influences, personality, behaviours, and all of that just isn’t the same as integrating them into yourself for a role.”

 

“What sort of roles--?” was all Arthur managed to speak before a group of four excited children burst into the room, quickly followed by their exhausted parents.

 

The mother looked over at them and blushed, “Oh I’m sorry, I hope we’re not interrupting…”

 

“What?” Arthur began, only then realizing that Eames had slid against his side again while they were talking. “Oh, no! Not at all!”

 

Eames just laughed and pulled him towards the door, smirking at the blush controlling his face. “Come on, _darling_; let’s leave this family alone to enjoy the view.” Arthur saw the woman’s eyes widening and he groaned, covering his face with his hands as Eames tugged him onto the staircase.

 

“You are a bastard,” he eventually muttered once they were safely halfway down the staircase.

 

“I know. It’s just fun to see you squirm,” Eames grinned back at him, the rest of the journey made in silence.

 

When they were back in the base of the lighthouse the attendant began telling them a bit about the history of the lighthouse as well as some of the other buildings on the island. During the entire twenty minute stream of knowledge the woman continued knitting without pause. Arthur was thoroughly impressed; he could ramble off facts to his heart’s content, but he highly doubted he could knit a pair of professional-looking gloves at the same time.

 

They visited a few of the old military fortifications that the woman suggested visiting, some of them clearly older than others. But it was interesting to witness what it must have been like for people on the island during the time when the buildings were built. He was already sick of the wind and could not imagine calling a chunk of rock in the middle of the Bay ‘home’. But apparently many people had over the years.

 

“Shall we do our Bay cruise now, pet?” Eames asked him innocently, having caught Arthur yawning into his hand.

 

His mark had returned to behaving properly after they left the lighthouse so Arthur agreed; the idea of being trapped on a boat in the middle of the Bay with Eames now less concerning. They headed down to the docks to catch a boat back to pier 33, thinking it would be nice to just sit and watch everything passing by him for a little while. Once they arrived back on the mainland, he was grateful that it was a short walk from pier 33 to pier 39 where the Bay cruise boats left every half hour; he couldn’t believe how fast the time had gone by.

 

Arthur was glad that he didn’t suffer motion sickness as he stepped onto the bay cruise boat in front of Eames, feeling the hull bobbing up and down with the incoming waves. Eames looked unimpressed by the new sensation but managed to stumble along the aisles behind him until they found two seats together on the upper level. Though they were both hoping that the canopy above them might fend off some of the wind, they were hit with a blast of chilly air. Arthur hunched down in his seat miserably and heard Eames snort beside him, “I told you that you were going to freeze, darling. I don’t know why you wore a suit again today.”

 

“Didn’t we have this conversation yesterday?” Arthur muttered moodily, patience nose-diving.

 

“Yes we did, and apparently you didn’t learn anything yesterday so we are having it again,” Eames tucked his hands into his pockets and Arthur did the same.

 

“I’m fine, you can stop worrying,” he insisted, though he began to shiver halfway through ‘worrying’, effectively nullifying his statement. He heard Eames laugh at him before he suddenly felt an arm wrap around his shoulders, pulling him against the other man’s side. He struggled to pull away. “What are you doing?” he hissed.

 

“Keeping you from turning into a bitchy, moody little ice cube,” his mark stated matter-of-factly, tightening his hold to keep him in place. Arthur couldn’t help but laugh shortly at the mental image before he looked away, fighting down the blush that was making his face warm. “Look, this cruise is almost an hour and a half long, and you won’t be walking to keep your temperature up. I’m doing this for myself as much as I am for you so just suck it up, swallow your pride, and watch the sights.”

 

And that’s exactly what Arthur did. He slowly slumped down in his chair a little more and allowed his shoulders to relax, pressed up against Eames and stealing his heat willingly. He kept telling himself that this was just a mutual sacrifice to keep from freezing even though he knew that was just an excuse. He was teetering on the edge of something precarious and uncertain and if he wasn’t careful to maintain some semblance of distance and professionalism, he could fall over the edge and be lost.

 

At some point during the cruise Eames seemed to decide that humming was a good idea and Arthur sent him a glare just to express his displeasure over the entire situation. Even if that was a lie. Eames just grinned down at him and continued on, clearly enjoying himself. Arthur let him be and returned his view to the passing sights.

 

The boat had begun the tour by passing along the Fisherman’s Wharf area, the streets, stores and restaurants all crowded with tourists. “Let’s go there tomorrow,” Arthur suggested, wanting to finally be in charge of some of the travel plans. He was a man who liked and enjoyed being in control, so following Eames around a foreign city had been an uneasy change of pace.

 

“Sure, I can move the rest of the sightseeing plans back a day since we’ll probably want a full day to wander through,” Eames agreed easily, not seeming to mind giving up some of the control to Arthur.

 

After that the boat had left the shoreline and circled under the Golden Gate Bridge, offering an entirely new – and overwhelming - perspective. If Arthur had thought the bridge was massive before, it was nothing compared to the long expanse of heavy metal stretching along over their heads. The entire boat was dropped into cold shade for a few minutes, the bridge completely blotting out the sun. He was utterly appalled by the fact that he could see his breath, in the middle of the summer, until the boat was back in the sunlight and traveling back into the Bay.

 

He was appreciative of the shared warmth by that point, his embarrassment and indignation melting away into acceptance and comfort – at least until the cruise was finished. The boat took a detour around Alcatraz for a different perspective on the island before shooting over to some of the far coastlines of the Bay. You could not see much of the cities lining the other parts of the Bay from the distance of downtown San Francisco so it was enjoyable to see up close.

 

Finally, about an hour and a half since they began, the boat pulled up at pier 1 as promised. The boat made two stops, allowing passengers to choose where to disembark, first at pier 1 and then at pier 39 where the cruise started. He and Eames got off at the main ferry building close to their hotel, muscles stiff from lack of movement and chill. Eames had released his hold as soon as they stood up but Arthur still made an effort to walk close to his mark, missing the portable furnace that was the other man.

 

It was getting late now, their day turning out to be much longer than they had planned. As they walked into the ferry building they were suddenly surrounded by an indoor marketplace. The smell of freshly baked food and steaming hot coffee immediately sidetracked him as he ducked through the crowd to a small coffee stand. “One, please—oh, make that two,” he corrected himself when Eames appeared behind his left shoulder, head and hands tucked into his sweater slightly.

 

“What would ya like in ‘em? I got most’a everythin’,” the redheaded teen asked them while setting two large cups on the stand in preparation.

 

“One cream, one sugar and…caramel?” Eames asked curiously, not sure if that was possible.

 

But the teen just nodded and began working away until the cup closest to Eames was full. Then the kid turned bright hazel eyes to Arthur, “Two cream, no sugar, and cinnamon please.”

 

“Comin’ right up.”

 

While they were waiting Eames picked up his cup, holding it carefully in both hands to warm up his fingers while taking an experimental sip. The resulting groan of delight almost sounded indecent and Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Here, love, you have to try this.” He took the offered cup carefully and took a tiny sip. His eyes fluttered closed at the taste and he took another, larger drink. “Hey, get your own coffee!” Eames grumbled, taking his coffee back greedily.

 

Just then Arthur’s coffee was finished and he placed some money on the counter before picking up his own cup and taking a careful mouthful. He let it sit on his tongue for a moment before swallowing, sighing contently at the wonderful mix of coffee and cinnamon. “Thank you,” he nodded to the teen before they began walking along the other stalls in the marketplace lazily.

 

The arched ceiling was made of glass, allowing the last of the sunset and the city lights to shine through beautifully. It was rather loud along the ferry building hall, mainly because of the concrete floors causing echoes, but everyone was having a good time. There was a huge array of smells trying to catch his attention, from fresh bread to exotic cheeses, to coffee and flowers and herbs. A small group of musicians, two violins and a cello were tucked away in a corner playing leisurely. Arthur almost didn’t know where to look first.

 

“I want to try some of yours,” Eames eventually prodded him, already halfway through his own.

 

“Alright, just don’t drink it all on me,” Arthur muttered as he handed the cup over, selfishly calculating how much Eames took.

 

When he was done Eames licked his lips and handed back the cup, “Damn that is good coffee.” Arthur hummed in agreement, too busy drinking to speak.

 

They continued wandering amongst the evening crowd, glancing over homemade jewellery, postcards, San Francisco souvenirs, farm produce and baked goods. Eventually they both let go of their self control and bought some fresh samosas to go out onto the marble staircase to eat. The moon was rising by this point, hanging low in the sky and bathing everything in a bluish-white tint. The market was still in full swing, streetlights and lanterns set up by stall owners to illuminate the pathways.

 

“You know what we should do?” Eames spoke through a mouthful of food.

 

“What’s that?” he asked, savouring the spices and herbs burning his tongue.

 

“We should buy some wine from the farmer’s market to support them and celebrate,” his mark looked over at him, grinning.

 

“Celebrate what?”

 

“I don’t know...life?” Eames waved his hands in an exaggerated arc, seeming more excited by the minute.

 

“Not tonight Eames, I’m exhausted,” he shoved the last bite of his final samosa into his mouth, propping one elbow on his leg and resting his chin in his open palm.

 

“You’re always exhausted,” Eames pouted.

 

“Deal with it,” he grumbled, allowing his eyes to drift shut.

 

“How about we pick some up and use it tomorrow night? It’s not like we’ll be at Fisherman’s Wharf all day,” the other man compromised.

 

Arthur blinked one eye open slowly, regarding Eames. He sighed, rubbed his eyes, and pushed himself into a standing position, “Alright.”

 

Eames was already standing next to him, like he knew Arthur would eventually break down and agree. They headed back into the ferry building and down one of the emptying corridors to where they had seen wine on display earlier. They both scanned the shelves, eventually crowding together side by side in front of the shelf for red wines. He reached up and grabbed a bottle on the top shelf, looking over the label. Suddenly Eames was leaning over his shoulder, laughing, “I should have known you’d go for a bitter one.”

 

“And what are _you_ getting?” Arthur looked over to inspect the bottle resting in Eames’s hands. “Red wine with...strawberries? Really, do you want me to buy you a sippy cup and a straw to go with that?”

 

“You’ll like it darling, trust me,” Eames smirked at him before heading off to the cash register to purchase his bottle.

 

His mark stood beside him afterwards, bottle tucked safely away in a bag under his arm as Eames waited for him to buy his bottle. “We’ll just see about that,” Arthur sent Eames a challenging glance before picking up his bag.

 

“Can’t wait, love,” Eames smiled. They wove through the maze of stalls along the waterfront, walking further into the downtown area to their hotel. The moon was still lighting the way but vendors were beginning to pack up shop for the night since it was getting rather late. “So...come wake me up whenever you’re...ready to leave tomorrow,” Eames spoke between yawns as they rode the elevator and walked side by side to their rooms.

 

“I’m not setting an alarm,” he stated assuredly, fishing out his key card while balancing his wine. He was looking forward to disposing of his suit since spending so much time in the warm marketplace had caused him to overheat slightly.

 

“Good,” Eames nodded approvingly, “Tomorrow is going to be a restful day. Night, love,” Eames gave him a lazy salute before stumbling away to his own room to sleep.

 

“Goodnight,” Arthur fought back a yawn, wandering into his own room tiredly. He set his wine bottle in the mini fridge and stripped to his boxers, too tired to do anything more before he crawled into bed and pulled the sheets over his head.

 

When he woke up some time later he noticed that it was dark, still the middle of the night. Then, immediately following that he realized that he was naked and tied to his bed. His back was resting on top of the sheets, one limb stretched towards each bedpost; wrists towards the headboard and legs spread open obscenely towards the footboard posts. The bindings were tight enough that he was incapable of movement even though they did not bite into his skin – unless he tried to move, of course. He also felt something around his neck but couldn’t look down at the right angle to see what it was.

 

He felt a wave of panic bubble up inside him, breathing growing short at the understanding that he was absolutely, irreversibly not in control. There was a streak of moonlight running across his stomach from where a sliver of curtain had not been pulled together tightly, and it dimly lit up the rest of the room for him to look around.

 

The sound of the hotel door unlocking broke the heavy silence and he whipped his head to the right to look, startled when a bell chimed at the movement. He heard the door open and close and then slow footfalls approach. Every muscle in his body was taut and prepared for anything even though he knew he was immobile. And then, much to his surprise and horror, Eames walked into the room. “Eames, what the _fuck_?”

 

He began pulling at the bindings then, too panicked to know another way of handling this situation. He felt his skin burn and sting at the friction but the motions were otherwise useless. He watched the other man carefully as he stopped and regarded Arthur, almost looking…shocked. But that was quickly wiped away by obvious lust as the man raked his eyes over Arthur’s bare form.

 

Arthur wanted to cover up, wanted to get away, wanted to yell; but he stayed silent and continued watching Eames for any sudden movements, trying to slow his breathing so he wouldn’t pass out. His mark – the one _he_ was supposed to be controlling, not the other way around – gradually stepped closer to the bed and around the footboard to the other side. Arthur followed the movements, his neck the only thing he could move, and he heard the bell again, “Eames, what the fuck is around my neck?”

 

This question seemed to catch the other man’s attention and Eames trailed his eyes unhurriedly up Arthur’s body to look at his neck. Both eyebrows rose at what he saw before a tiny groan escaped his throat. “A collar with a bell,” Eames whispered, still stepping closer.

 

“Why the _fuck_ do I have a _collar_ around my neck?” Arthur spat, pulling at the bindings again in anger.

 

“I don’t know…because it looks fucking hot?” Eames admitted softly, hands trailing down to the hem of his shirt and quickly pulling it over his head.

 

“Eames, stop…don’t do this,” he half-demanded, half-pleaded. But Eames paid him no mind, still skimming his eyes over him hungrily as he dropped the shirt to the floor haphazardly. Eames began working on his belt and Arthur worried that it would come into play; he let out a relieved sigh when the metal buckle clattered to the floor. He knew he shouldn’t watch – didn’t _want_ to watch – but he felt his eyes transfixed on the other man as Eames undid the zipper of his jeans and used the belt loops to shimmy the dark pants and boxers down to the floor.

 

He swallowed, seeing that Eames was already half hard just from looking at him. He felt heat flush his face at the sight, feeling an unwelcome tinge of desire dance along his spine. He frantically tried to pull away as Eames moved to stand beside the bed and slowly climb onto the mattress, but all that did was ring the tiny bell again. He saw a tiny smile play on Eames’s lips at the sound and felt the mattress dip and sway as the other man moved closer.

 

Arthur didn’t know what was going to happen and didn’t know how to stop it. Any order or plea he gave seemed to fall on deaf ears, Eames focused solely on his target. And pulling at the bindings was only rubbing his skin raw. He hated what that look did to him; no one had ever looked at him quite like that before – like…_dessert_. He had just met this man and even if he did find him attractive and worth some consideration, this was _not_ the way he wanted things to turn out.

 

Eames surprised him by kneeling down beside him rather than climbing on top of his spread form. The king-sized mattress left more than enough room and Arthur could feel the other man’s warm leg pressed against the side of his stomach. But besides that the only point of contact was the pad of a solitary, curious finger. It began by running over his cheek and jaw line softly before trailing down his neck. Eames got sidetracked by the collar and Arthur shivered at the feel of the warm finger skimming along the ring where cool leather met his skin. The collar was pressed against his skin but was not tight enough to hinder his breathing.

 

More fingers joined the first, one hand gliding up each arm individually, inspecting the bindings inquisitively before slipping back down. The hand passed over his chest and Eames seemed to realize how quickly Arthur was breathing, judging the frantic rise and fall of his chest. “Shh, love, it’s alright. I’m not going to hurt you,” the man cooed, giving Arthur a genuine smile.

 

“You have me tied to a fucking bed,” Arthur reminded him viciously.

 

“I’ve never heard you swear quite this much before,” Eames laughed lightly, as if this entire thing was a joke. But before Arthur could say anything more, the other man continued, “Sometimes you just need to give up control, darling. Let someone else lead you.”

 

“This is _not_ what I had in mind,” he groaned, his breath catching as fingers skimmed over one nipple teasingly.

 

“Well you certainly _seem_ to be enjoying it,” Eames glanced down his body pointedly, Arthur also half hard now with the touches. “Admit it, darling. You want me to take control for once because no one else dares to try. You want this.”

 

With his words Eames pinched his nipple lightly, just enough to give that pleasurable shock of mixed pleasure and pain. Arthur felt a small mewl escape his lips before he could stop himself. He saw Eames smirk and move to the neglected nipple. “I don’t want this,” Arthur breathed, knowing it was a lie even as the words fell into the air between them.

 

He knew he _shouldn’t_ want this…that was true. Besides the fact that he had just met this man, Eames was also his mark. He couldn’t do things like this with a mark, let alone _want_ to do these sorts of things. It was unprofessional, dangerous, and he was losing control. He liked to be in control and didn’t want anyone but himself leading. But at the back of his mind, silent and where no one else would know, he knew he wanted this. He wanted Eames to take control, even if it was only for a few minutes.

 

Those fingers were teasing down his stomach now, Arthur’s skin tense at the feeling and direction. But that hand passed over his need, brushing along his hipbones and down his legs. Arthur’s breath was speeding up again, and this time not because of panic as Eames pulled back up and began dropping butterfly soft kisses along his skin. The other man suckled and nipped his skin occasionally before kissing away the pain and Arthur knew he would be littered in small, red love bites. His neck, his collarbone, his chest, his nipples, his stomach…

 

Arthur was fully hard now, cock weeping against his lower stomach. He tensed up, suddenly panicked when Eames shifted and moved to sit between Arthur’s spread legs. But the other man just ran his fingers tenderly along his hips and stomach, apparently not interested in taking him quite yet. Eames leaned over him, hot breath tickling his skin as those lips kissed the skin around his desire. “Please…don’t…” Arthur panted, eyes watching Eames’s movements, mesmerized.

 

“Talk to me love, tell me what you want,” Eames whispered against his burning skin, gentle and unrushed. With those words he got the distinct impression that if he truly did ask Eames to stop, he would. There was something in the man’s soft touches that assured him that this would not end in a forced encounter.

 

He could feel the warmth of that breath brush along his cock and he whined, struggling with himself in that moment more than with Eames. He knew it was wrong, knew he should stop this before it went any further. But in that moment, warmth against him and promising more, Arthur couldn’t bring himself to care; he wanted this. “Don’t…stop…don’t stop--” he panted, voice catching in a moan as Eames licked him languidly from base to tip.

 

He felt Eames pull away and cover his body for a moment, hard length pressed against Arthur’s hip as he leaned up. But Arthur turned his head away right before Eames’s mouth met his own, lips landing on his cheek and bell chiming daintily. “Darling?” the other man asked, suddenly hesitant as he held himself over Arthur’s prone body.

 

“Kissing complicates things,” he muttered, not meeting Eames’s gaze.

 

He heard a sad sigh and felt the breath fan out across his skin. “Alright,” was all Eames said before sliding back down his body. Arthur felt a wave of hurt and disappointment flash through him at the other man’s retreat. Some part of him had wanted Eames to hold his chin in place and kiss him anyway, muttering in that accent of his ‘I want complicated with you, love.’

 

But those thoughts deserted him along with everything else in his brain that moment as he felt a very wet and a very hot mouth engulf him. He clenched his eyes closed and threw his head back into the pillows with a loud groan as those lips slowly slipped down his entire length. He felt those lips smile around him but couldn’t bring himself to be embarrassed as he bucked his hips up, needing more.

 

Eames placed one hand on each of his narrow hips to hold him in place as Arthur’s cock hit the back of Eames’s throat. Then, before Arthur could get a grip on what was happening, Eames hollowed his cheeks and sucked as he slowly pulled his mouth up. Arthur was not sure he had ever made a noise quite that desperate before, fingernails digging into his palms because he couldn’t grip the sheets.

 

“Eames,” he whined when he finally caught his breath, barely able to concentrate as the other man continued swirling that sinful tongue around his tip, “untie me.”

 

“No can do, love,” Eames smirked, only pulling away from his flesh long enough to get the words out; “This is about you giving me control. I want you to lie there and just feel and experience everything. Besides,” Eames paused in his speaking for a moment to take Arthur’s length into his mouth again fully, dragging another guttural moan from him, “I think having someone else in control for once turns you on.”

 

He hated that Eames was right, even if he loved what the man was doing with his mouth. Every time Arthur pulled at his bindings to try and take control of the situation – touch him, get Eames to take _more_, go _faster_ – and was reminded that he was utterly out of control, he felt a new round of lust course through him. So for the first time in his life he lay back and let someone else lead fully. Even the leather of the collar brushing against his neck, the bell ringing as he tossed his head, caused his hips to buck up. Because in this one moment where his world was turned upside down, there wasn’t an issue of trust – he trusted Eames even if he shouldn’t. No, this was an issue of handing over control and leaving his comfort zone…and it felt _exquisite_.

 

Eames now had one hand massaging his balls carefully, the warmth of those fingers seeping into him. The man’s other hand was resting on his hip, keeping his own balance and holding Arthur down, maintaining command as Arthur’s body fought for release. That head with mussed, light brown hair was bobbing constantly now, tongue swirling greedily despite the quick pace.

 

He could feel that skilled tongue lick away his precum occasionally and knew he was getting close. His muscles were tense and his breath was growing short, cutting off his string of curses, gasps and moans. The bell on his collar was almost constantly chiming now as he couldn’t remain still, the sound harsh as they mixed with his pants for breath. “Eames…” he moaned breathlessly, nearly tumbling over the edge when Eames’s eyes glanced up to meet his own questioningly, pace and movements never-ending. “I need—I need…”

 

He didn’t know what he needed, other than to reach his ending. But the other man seemed to know. He felt Eames’s hand leave his hip and one finger run along the base of his cock, even while the other man continued sucking and bobbing. His hips were free and he bucked up into Eames’s mouth, utterly out of control. And then he felt that solitary finger brush against his ass. His eyes clenched closed, focusing solely on the sense of touch as he felt that finger tease his hole, coated with spit and precum.

 

Suddenly it was pushed in and that jolt of pleasure tinted with pain sent Arthur over with no warning beyond a choked gasp. His back bowed dangerously, coming off the mattress as he shoved his cock up into Eames’s waiting mouth. His toes curled, his fingernails bit further into his skin, and he yelled. He wasn’t sure what he yelled, whether it was a curse or Eames’s name; all he knew was that it drowned out the bell of his collar as his body shuddered.

 

He felt Eames working around his softening cock, doing his best to swallow everything even though a small dribble of come escaped his lips to trail down Eames’s chin. His body was wracked with spasms, clenching around that finger until it was removed. Finally he began to calm, his back returning to rest on the bed. He silently watched as Eames pulled away and gave him an affectionate smile. Arthur returned the smile tiredly, allowing his eyes to drift shut as exhaustion overtook his body.

 

Arthur blinked his eyes open and sat bolt upright in bed, breathing hard. He was alone in his room, under the sheets and still in his boxers. There were no bindings, no collar, no Eames. There were no love bites and no bruise on his hip from being held down. The only thing that was different from when he had fallen asleep was the slick wet patch spreading across his boxers.

 

He slid them off and used the material to clean up the rest of his release. Then he chucked the soiled material to the floor, furious as he realized that he had had a wet dream about his mark. He was even more livid because, as he lay back down under the sheets, he couldn’t get the memory out of his head. It had felt so real…and the worst part, the part that infuriated him most, was that he _wanted_ it to be real. “Shit,” he spoke to the ceiling.

 


	6. Day Three: Eames

**Day Three**

** _Eames_ **

 

They had gotten a late breakfast before walking over to pier 33 to catch their boat. They got there one minute before the boat was scheduled to leave for Alcatraz. He saw this as an achievement. Arthur did not look quite as impressed. Nonetheless they made it on the ferry and over to the island in time to catch the next guided tour of the Alcatraz prison.

 

He was exasperated by the fact that Arthur had decided to wear a suit again that day. But he also had to admit that it looked strangely fitting as they walked along the hallway of jail cells. He turned to share this sudden revelation and found that Arthur had fallen away from the group. Eames doubled back, watching Arthur as he approached. His mark was looking into a jail cell, regarding it like he was considering moving in.

 

He moved up beside Arthur and peered in himself, wondering what was so captivating. When he didn’t see anything particularly special, he spoke, “Why exactly did you wear a suit to a prison, doll?”

 

“What do you mean?” the other man raised a confused eyebrow at him.

 

“You look like a lawyer here to visit a client,” he explained. “A prison isn’t really your top choice for places to wear a suit,”

 

“In case you forgot, Eames,” Arthur gave a pointed look at the abandoned cell in front of them, “This is no longer a functional prison. There are no convicts being kept here.”

 

He just shrugged, “That doesn’t make you look any less like a crooked lawyer.” He smiled to himself as Arthur pulled away from the bars, following the other man as they caught up to the tour guide and the rest of the group. The terrifyingly tall guide gave them a glare but Eames ignored this, half listening to the stories of famous criminals who stayed in the prison while waiting for his next opportunity to get Arthur alone.

 

His chance came when the group was shown an open cell, everyone allowed to step in and see what it was like. Everyone else went first and the group continued on while Eames ducked in behind Arthur. His mark’s back was turned towards him, hands held out so that fingers brushed the damp walls. Eames stepped closer, breath ruffling the ends of that ebony hair where the gel had not reached. “You know,” he began quietly, “They should lock you up in here, darling.”

 

“And why would that be?” he heard repressed panic at the edge of Arthur’s voice and took a step back to give the man some room.

 

“Because you’re so gorgeous it should be illegal,” he smirked, giving Arthur a wink when he turned around to face him. Before he could blink he received a swift punch to the arm. “Ow, love! I’m just speaking the truth,” he rubbed his arm, feeling the muscles throb dully from the blow.

 

Arthur just rolled his eyes before pushing past him to escape into the hallway. He matched the pace, grinning victoriously as they returned to the edge of the tour group. They were shown the rest of the prison before being given free rein to explore the rest of the island. They bought lunch before the huge line of families could build up and then escaped the noisy eating area to walk along a relatively empty path towards the lighthouse. “Did you know that this is the oldest lighthouse on the west coast of the United States?”

 

“Really?” he hummed, showing he was listening while taking a bite of his hot dog. “Tell me, darling,” he began again when he finished swallowing, “How is it that you can remember all of that information tucked away in your mind?”

 

Arthur shrugged, “I have a good memory for facts.”

 

“You must,” he nodded, knowing that everyone had something specific they were good at remembering. For him it was the details of appearances, postures and expressions. For Arthur it was facts. “You better put that to good use,” he spoke, fighting with the lighthouse door.

 

Arthur came over and helped him open it, their combined weight working past the strong wind. They ducked into the circular room serving as the base of the lighthouse and Arthur stared over at him silently. Eames blinked, confused about the suddenly conflicted look in those eyes, but the moment was interrupted by a lighthouse attendant, “Only stairs I’m afraid sirs, if you wish to get to the top.”

 

The little old woman reminded Eames pleasantly of his grandma before she had passed; she had insisted Eames visit her every Wednesday and Saturday for tea, no matter what the weather. The pleasant memories caused him to smile and drop an arm around Arthur’s shoulders boldly, “That’s alright, doll. We like a good challenge, don’t we Arthur?”

 

The other man had tensed under his touch but had not pulled away, looking like he was considering sulking. The lighthouse attendant promised them some stories when they returned to the bottom and Arthur slipped out from under his arm to begin climbing the spiralling staircase. Eames had to follow behind Arthur, the staircase too narrow for both of them. Not that he minded staring up at that arse covered in custom fabric.

 

They had to work around a few tourists heading down but finally they made it to the observation deck, windows on all sides of them to show the view. He took in the view slowly, trying to commit it to memory, before he began watching Arthur circle the small room. He took note of the slow, precise walk Arthur adopted as he took in the view, converting it all to memory. Eames watched as the man’s palm skimmed along the railing, not really gripping it so much as following the lead around the room.

 

He noticed that they were the only ones up here and pressed himself against Arthur’s side when his mark stopped walking. “We’re all alone, sweetheart,” he breathed, arm purposefully brushing against Arthur’s.

 

He felt a small shudder pass through the other man’s body before Arthur pulled away, “Yes, so I was thinking now might be a good time for another question.”

 

“Oh? What did you have in mind?” Eames looked over, amused. He was wondering when his mark would begin with his questions again. Arthur always seemed rather cautious and hesitant about asking questions and had not bombarded him with any new ones in a while.

 

“Well…” Arthur spoke carefully, making Eames think this would be another personal question about his past, “Based on our previous topic of facts and knowledge, I was wondering what sort of books you liked to read.”

 

The question was so far from what Eames had been expecting that he could only blink for a moment or two before chuckling. “Wow, from questions about my messed up family to my choice in book…quite a change.” He watched the cityscape for a moment, lost in thought. “I suppose biographies would be my favourite – histories as well, but only when they’re talking about a historical figure.”

 

“What are you interested in those?” Arthur immediately asked, like the question had been waiting on the tip of his tongue already.

 

He shrugged and glanced over at Arthur, locking away the memory of this pose controlled by curiosity, “I guess I just love studying people. They fascinate me.”

 

Eames watched as Arthur’s body stiffened slightly in anxiety as his eyes trialed over his mark. “Sounds like you should have gone into studying Psychology rather than acting…”

 

He caught the hint, Arthur trying to lead him towards answering specific questions by accident. So instead he shifted closer to Arthur and remained vague, trying to force the other man into just asking outright. “I’ve read a few books on it,” he answered offhandedly, “But studying social interaction, social influences, personality, behaviours, and all of that just isn’t the same as integrating them into yourself for a role.” He was pleased that he had managed to stick at least some honesty into his answer for Arthur.

 

“What sort of roles…?” was all his mark managed to get out before a large family burst into the observation deck, four young children giggling and running around the room.

 

The mother, young but looking momentarily older with exhaustion, glanced over at them and blushed, “Oh I’m sorry, I hope we’re not interrupting…”

 

“What?” Arthur asked in confusion before stopping, suddenly realizing his close proximity. “Oh, no! Not at all!”

 

Eames laughed as he felt the man’s whole body stiffen in embarrassment. He grabbed the closest suit-clad arm and dragged Arthur towards the staircase, “Come on, _darling_,” he drew out the word with his accent, “Let’s leave this family alone to enjoy the view.”

 

He heard Arthur groan as the man trailed behind him, blushing furiously. “You are a bastard,” he eventually complained.

 

“I know,” he looked back up the staircase to grin at his mark, “It’s just fun to watch you squirm.”

 

The circular room was empty when they reached the bottom of the lighthouse again so they stood beside the old woman as she told some stories. Eames was impressed with how much she remembered as well as how well she told the stories; he felt like he was standing on the island himself, watching these buildings being built. And even though her speciality was the lighthouse and a few of the military buildings, she also told them the story of a famous escape attempt from the prison.

 

He watched Arthur while listening, his mark possessing a glazed look on his face. It was almost like Arthur was not truly present, lost in his own thoughts as his imagination worked in time with the old woman’s words. It was rather interesting to watch since the other man would go without blinking for a long time and then blink rapidly, breath alternating along with his thoughts.

 

Eames also watched the little old woman, feeling even more memories of his grandma when he saw she was knitting a pair of soft looking gloves while speaking, not batting an eyelash. He half considered buying the gloves off her and forcing them onto Arthur’s hands while he wasn’t paying attention, but let the thought slide. Once they were finished they thanked the attendant and headed back out into the wind bravely. “Shall we do our Bay cruise now, pet?” he asked when he saw Arthur trying to hide a yawn behind his hand, worried that the day was growing too long for them.

 

Arthur agreed and they caught the ferry right before it left for San Francisco. Arthur found a seat tucked far back under a canopy to stay out of the wind but Eames stayed by the back railing for most of the short voyage. He watched as they pulled away from the island, leaving Alcatraz behind. He could see the lonely lighthouse on one end of the rock, the military fortifications, and the prison standing forlornly. The waves were rather rough out here in the Bay, and the water was frosty based on the spray that came up and hit him in the face occasionally. Eames could only imagine what it was like to look out one of those prison cell windows, peeking through the bars to see the island drop-off into frigid waters you had no chance of surviving in your bid for freedom.

 

Once the boat reached the pier and his feet were back on solid ground he suggested they walk the short distance to pier 39 where they would catch their cruise. He was relatively comfortable with any type of travel, but the kind where his feet stayed planted on the ground was preferred.

 

They reached the correct pier just in time to catch the next cruise ship rather than waiting for the next one thirty minutes later. Arthur stepped on first, looking graceful and poised as if he was still standing on solid earth. Eames followed him on, grimacing as the boat swayed under him. This cruise boat was for small groups of tours and was therefore a lot smaller in size than the ferry that shepherded people from downtown San Francisco to Alcatraz and back. He never enjoyed boats this small, especially when the water was as choppy as it was in the San Francisco Bay.

 

He stumbled along behind Arthur, using the backs of chairs he passed to keep himself standing upright. Finally his mark chose two chairs underneath the set up canopy and he collapsed into the chair beside him before he fell over. The engine roared to life and the smell of diesel briefly clogged the air. The next moment the unpleasant smell was swept away by the chilly air as they pulled away from the shore and Eames almost wished the smell would return rather than endure the rocking boat.

 

He noticed Arthur curling up in his chair, looking rather miserable, and he couldn’t hold back his exasperated snort at the man’s bullheadedness, “I told you that you were going to freeze, darling. I don’t know why you wore a suit again today.”

 

The man’s good mood was being quickly ripped away by the vicious wind, indicated by the anger in his tone when he retorted, “Didn’t we have this conversation yesterday?”

 

“Yes we did,” Eames rolled his eyes, since that was clearly the problem, “and apparently you didn’t learn anything yesterday so we are having it again.”

 

“I’m fine, you can stop worrying,” Arthur tucked his chin against his chest and stuffed his hands in his pockets, though the suit’s material would not be made to insulate heat so the movement was next to pointless. Feeling daring, Eames wrapped one arm carefully around Arthur’s trembling shoulders and pulled him closer so that they were pressed together. Arthur’s muscles tensed and the other man tried to pull away with a hiss, “What are you doing?”

 

“Keeping you from turning into a bitchy, moody little ice cube,” he answered easily, holding Arthur a little tighter to keep him from successfully escaping. He felt encouraged when Arthur laughed even as a blush stained his cheeks red. “Look, this cruise is almost an hour and a half long and you won’t be walking to keep your temperature up. I’m doing this for myself as much as I am for you...” that was a lie; he was rather comfortable in his double layers as it was, “So just suck it up, swallow your pride, and watch the sights.”

 

Much to his surprise, Arthur listened to him. His mark slipped down in his chair and turned inward slightly to press closer to Eames’s warmth. He felt those normally-tense shoulders relax under his arm as Arthur let go of his embarrassment. Despite the cold and his tiredness, in that moment he couldn’t think of a place he’d rather be. It just felt so comforting having Arthur curled up against him, even if it was only for heat. That sense of belonging, the one that had taken over his mind when the other man fell into him on the bus the day before, blossomed once again, consuming his mind and heightened his mood.

 

He was so content at that moment that he began humming lightly, most of the off-key music being swept away by the wind. Arthur graced him with a disapproving glare in response at one point, though he could not have been too displeased considering the fact that he merely turned back to the sights afterwards. They were passing Fisherman’s Wharf as the cruise boat moved away from the shoreline when Arthur spoke up, “Let’s go there tomorrow.”

 

Eames had been expecting the other man to take charge of the sightseeing plans at some point. He seemed to be the type of person who always needed to be in charge of a situation. So in order to keep Arthur in this fragilely content mood, Eames decided to relinquish some of his control, “Sure, I can move the rest of the sightseeing plans back a day since we’ll probably want a full day to wander through.”

 

They lapsed into comfortable silence then, watching the sights and sharing heat. The boat slid under the Golden Gate Bridge and Eames slid down in his chair slightly. The mere thought of that much weight in moulded steel and cars sitting above him, kept in place by two pillars and a long string of cable, was enough to make him antsy to have blue sky above his head again. He felt Arthur shudder against him as the bridge blocked the sun out, breath visible in the air. Eames felt confident enough to run his hand up and down Arthur’s far arm until they were back in the sun, using friction to keep the man warm.

 

The rest of the San Francisco Bay cruise was interesting to see, especially since there were other cities and towns on other banks of the Bay. They would not get a chance to head over there and explore with the time they had so it was nice to see from the water at least. The boat eventually pulled up against pier 1 which connected to the main ferry building. As they stood up Eames removed his arm, not wanting to push his luck. But as they stepped off the boat and headed into the ferry building he felt pleased when he noticed Arthur walking closer to him than was entirely necessary. Maybe there was hope after all.

 

As soon as they entered the ferry building’s warmth, chatter and smells assaulted them from all sides. Before he could even distinguish the tempting smell of coffee from everything else, Arthur had already left his side and ducked through the crowd to the coffee stand. Eames followed more slowly, muscles still stiff from lack of movement and tiredness. Arthur was nice enough to order two coffees and the ginger-haired teen asked him what he wanted in it. “One cream, one sugar and...caramel?” he asked hopefully, half distracted while memorizing that out-of-place accent.

 

Arthur put in his order next and Eames picked up his cup tentatively to make sure he didn’t burn his fingers. He took a careful sip and groaned immediately as the flavours overtook his mouth. It tasted like there was caramel actually melting onto his tongue until he swallowed. Almost regretful to part with the coffee, he slowly held the cup out to Arthur, “Here, love, you have to try this.” Arthur was looking at him rather sceptically but took a small sip anyway. Eames watched in delight as his mark’s eyes fluttered closed, memorizing the simple reaction before he realized Arthur was stealing his coffee, “Hey, get your own coffee!”

 

Arthur gave up the cup and picked up his own, paying for their coffee before they wandered back into the flowing crowd. The sigh that the other man gave when he tried his own coffee honestly caused a flash of desire to pass through Eames’s system quickly. He was tempted to smirk and comment, but decided to leave Arthur alone to enjoy his warming drink.

 

It was difficult to make sure he didn’t step on or crash into someone, primarily distracted by his vanishing coffee. But somehow they managed to work their way along the main ferry building, glancing around the stalls curiously. There were many smells pining for his attention but his coffee maintained control, though he eventually caught a whiff of cinnamon. “I want to try some of yours,” he poked Arthur in the side, curious as to how his mark’s drink would compare.

 

“Alright, just don’t drink it all on me,” Arthur eyed his half-empty cup pointedly.

 

Eames took a long drink, knowing he would only be granted one. He let it sit on his tongue for a moment, cinnamon consuming his mouth. After he swallowed he licked his lips clean, searching for any leftover flavour. He caught Arthur watching his mouth but didn’t comment, handing back the cup, “Damn that is good coffee.”

 

They eventually purchased some steaming samosas and took them out to the staircase to eat away from the noise of the farmer’s market. The moon was hanging low in the sky in front of them, half hidden by skyscrapers but still bathing the pavement in light and shaming the streetlights. Just another way Nature chose to outdo the human race. The spices in the samosas burned the tip of his tongue pleasantly. “You know what we should do?” he spoke suddenly, forgetting to swallow before he attempted words.

 

“What’s that?” Arthur asked half-heartedly; too busy enjoying his food to indulge Eames’s nonsense.

 

“We should buy some wine from the farmer’s market to support them and celebrate,” he grinned, pleased with this plan.

 

“Celebrate what?” his mark glanced over at him curiously.

 

“I don’t know...life?” he threw his arms in the air quickly before dropping them down again to catch his bag of food to stop it from falling on the staircase. 

 

“Not tonight Eames, I’m exhausted,” Arthur took his last small bite of his dinner and rested his chin on a hand, looking genuinely worn out.

 

“You’re always exhausted,” Eames pointed out, pretending to mope.

 

“Deal with it,” the other man answered without much bite, eyes drifting closed.

 

“Well...” Eames tried to think of some way to talk Arthur into the plan. He knew his mark would chicken out of drinking wine with him if the bottle was not waiting for him. But if Arthur spent the money on the wine now he would feel obligated to drink it later. “How about we pick some up and use it tomorrow night? It’s not like we’ll be at Fisherman’s Wharf _all_ day.”

 

Arthur opened his eyes and just stared at him for a moment. And when he heard the other man sigh he knew he had won, standing up and waiting for Arthur to slowly pull himself up as well. “Alright.”

 

They headed back into the ferry building and cut a path towards the wine vendor, tired and on a mission. There was a different shelf for each type of wine but they both found themselves pressed together, trying to view the red wine shelf. He had always preferred red wine, especially when you were planning to drink it without food as you did not need to worry about it clashing with anything. He picked one bottle out and cradled it in his hands as he watched Arthur reach for his selection; he saw the suit jacket and shirt below lift up slightly, the barest sliver of skin visible for a moment. He glanced over Arthur’s shoulder to read the label and laughed, “I should have known you’d go for a bitter one.”

 

“And what are _you_ getting?” Arthur goaded, looking over his choice. “Red wine with...strawberries? _Really_? Do you want me to buy you a sippy cup and a straw to go with that?”

 

He just smirked at the taunts, heading towards the cash to pay, “You’ll like it darling, trust me.”

 

“We’ll just see about that,” his mark challenged him while in the process of paying for his selection and picking up the packaged bottle.

 

Eames smiled as they began weaving through the thinning crowd, aiming for the exit and their hotel. “Can’t wait, love,” he admitted honestly, wondering what possibilities a thoroughly-relaxed Arthur might lead towards. They were both yawning and not bothering to hide it by the time they made it into the hotel, Eames eagerly anticipating the feel of his soft duvet waiting for him. “So...” he yawned, “come wake me up whenever you’re...” another yawn, “ready to leave tomorrow.”

 

“I’m not setting an alarm,” Arthur warned him and Eames could tell by the tone that it would be pointless to argue, even though he didn’t want to argue.

 

“Good. Tomorrow is going to be a restful day.” He held his pointer and middle finger together and touched them to his forehead before dropping his hand, turning towards his own room, “Night, love.”

 

“Goodnight,” he heard distantly, word half cut off by another yawn. He couldn’t believe how long this day had become. He felt exhausted even though they had not done a great deal of physical activity. The wind and chill must have worn him out more than he realized. Eames shoved his wine bottle into the fridge before turning off all the lights and crawling into bed. In that moment he wasn’t sure he had ever slept in a more comfortable bed, quickly drifting off.

 

He was a little startled to find himself suddenly standing in front of room 1731 with the key card in his hand. He slipped the card in and quietly passed into the room, making sure that the door did not slam closed. He locked everything up again and slowly walked further into the room. It was difficult to make anything out since it was the middle of the night and almost completely dark, only a dim stream of moonlight helping to light up the room.

 

Eames walked into the room and heard Arthur’s voice before his eyes could fully adjust, panic and rage intermixed in that tone, “Eames, what the _fuck_?”

 

He was beyond words as he took in the entire scene then, standing a short distance from the king-sized bed. He knew he was dreaming – knew he _had_ to be dreaming. He noted the bindings keeping Arthur in place, the other man frantically pulling at them and probably getting bruises and burns for his trouble. Arthur was laying on his back, naked on the sheets, muscles tense. Arthur’s arms and legs were spread lewdly and he felt his body jump in desire.

 

Eames stepped closer; terrified that he might shatter the dream. Arthur watched him, tilting his head and causing a bell to ring. “Eames, what the fuck is around my neck?”

 

Those words pulled his attention away from that waiting body to glance up at the pale neck. What he saw assured him that this had to be his dream because what caught his attention was the collar he had imagined that first night in the elevator when he called Arthur ‘kitten’. A tiny bell was gleaming in the moonlight and a soft band of dark leather hugged his mark’s neck. He groaned opening, his pants growing tight at the sight. “A collar with a bell,” he whispered as if he was sharing an intimate secret.

 

Arthur began pulling at the bindings again, clearly furious, “Why the fuck do I have a _collar_ around my neck?”

 

“I don’t know...” he paused, “Because it looks fucking hot?” He felt safe admitting this as his fingers gripped the hem of his shirt and pulled the fabric over his head. He knew he would never be able treat Arthur – the real Arthur – the same after this. But he couldn’t bring himself to push away this gift from his subconscious, projection looking utterly perfect. This was better than he had ever managed to recreate and now he was getting the chance to address his lust for his mark. It didn’t matter if it was a projection. Hell, maybe that was a good thing. Maybe that would help him push his curiosity and desire aside in reality and treat Arthur the way he should: like a mark.

 

He _needed_ this.

 

“Eames stop...don’t do this,” Arthur spoke weakly, watching him in obvious terror as he began working off his belt. He let the belt fall to the floor beside his shirt, not interested in causing Arthur fear or pain. That wasn’t what he wanted from his mark. He undid his zipper slowly, giving the projection a show as he slid his pants and boxers off, freeing his need. It was hard to tell in the dim light but he thought he saw a blush take over Arthur’s face, the flush making him stunning in the moonlight.

 

He carefully got on the bed and knelt down beside Arthur, smiling lightly when he heard the bell chiming with Arthur’s movements. He pressed his leg up against the projection’s side, wanting to be as close as he could get. The other man was struggling and pleading for him to stop but he found it hard to focus on the words as he gazed over the expanse of exposed skin. Arthur’s body was beautiful – powerful muscles hidden beneath a thin form.

 

He lifted one finger and carefully ran it along Arthur’s cheek, feeling sharp cheekbone underneath warm, smooth skin. He skimmed along the man’s jaw line and down his neck, pausing to focus on the collar for a moment. He traced where leather hugged skin, feeling Arthur shiver with his touch. Eames checked to make sure the collar was not too tight and decided to check the other bindings as well.

 

One hand wandered up each arm, exploring skin and memorizing scars and small blemishes as he went. He checked each binding, making sure Arthur’s circulation was not cut off, and was both surprised and impressed by his subconscious’s work. When he felt sure that the bindings would not cause any harm he dropped his hand back down to Arthur’s chest, realizing how quickly the other man was breathing as he saw that smooth chest rise and fall rapidly. “Shh, love, it’s alright,” he smiled, trying to appear unthreatening; “I’m not going to hurt you.”

 

“You have me tied to a fucking bed,” Arthur glared up at him dangerously.

 

Eames laughed slightly, pleased at how accurate the projection was despite the excessive swearing, “I’ve never heard you swear quite this much before.” He traced designs on that skin soothingly before continuing, “Sometimes you just need to give up control, darling. Let someone else lead you.”

 

“This is not what I had in mind,” Arthur groaned. Eames loved the sound of the man’s breath catching in his throat as he slid a finger over one nipple lightly.

 

As he continued teasing the other man’s nipple he noticed that Arthur was becoming more flushed, body and mind clearly not in agreement. He glanced down to see that Arthur was half hard, quickly catching up to Eames’s full hardness, “Well you certainly _seem_ to be enjoying it.” He couldn’t hold back his triumphant smirk, wondering if anyone had ever been successful in stealing control from Arthur before this, “Admit it, darling. You want me to take control for once because no one else dares to try...You _want_ this.”

 

Before Arthur could retort he pinched the nipple between two fingers, dragging a tortured keening sound from those parted lips. “I don’t want this,” he heard Arthur state, though he did not sound nearly as sure as he had when this began. The other man had also stopped pulling at the bindings, laying still as he fell into submission. He moved to the other nipple, pinching it into a small peak and hearing Arthur’s breathing pick up and grow heavy. He knew he was winning; knew control would soon be entirely his.

 

Eventually he released the abused nipples and began drawing patterns on that taut stomach, loving the feeling of those muscles reacting to his touch. He was tempted to grasp Arthur then but waited, wanting to make sure the projection wanted this – make Arthur beg for it. Instead he massaged those narrow hips and legs like he had previously done to the man’s arms – relaxing him.

 

When that was finished he returned to Arthur’s side and began his process again, this time dropping feather-light kisses along all of the skin he could reach. He could taste a small hint of salt as Arthur grew more aroused and developed a thin layer of sweat across his body. As he kissed across his mark’s body he began nipping at the skin in places he knew would drag out moans and mewls. He would bite and suck the skin and then kiss or lick away the pain before moving on. He wanted to mark Arthur; he wanted it to be clear who Arthur belonged to.

 

He noticed that Arthur was fully hard now, a small drop of precum trickling onto his stomach. He carefully picked himself up and knelt down between Arthur’s spread legs, barely able to restrain himself. He ran his fingers affectionately over Arthur’s hips and stomach, trying to reassure the man that he was not going to force him. It took a moment but Arthur slowly relaxed again and Eames began trailing kisses around Arthur’s straining length. He could feel Arthur’s eyes on him, waiting for him to take him. “Please...don’t...” his mark struggled to speak as he panted.

 

“Talk to me love, tell me what you want,” he whispered against Arthur’s hot skin. Even if this was a projection trembling below him, merely a reflection of his mark, Eames was not going to force him into doing anything he didn’t want. He ignored his own insistent need and blew air lightly over Arthur, watching his cock jump and waiting for a decision.

 

He could tell Arthur was struggling with himself in that moment but finally the man spoke again. “Don’t...stop...don’t stop--” his mark begged openly, sounding both more determined and more submissive than he had since the start of the dream.

 

Those were the only words he needed to hear and he dropped his head down to lick slowly from the base of Arthur’s hot flesh to his weeping tip, tasting salty precum. Before he got too distracted by the taste of the other man he pulled himself up the bed, covering Arthur’s body with his own. He felt his need jutting against Arthur’s narrow hip as he dipped his head down but Arthur turned away at the last moment and his lips brushed his mark’s cheek. The bell rang sadly in the moment of silence and he pulled away, looking down at Arthur in confusion, “Darling?”

 

Arthur kept his gaze turned away, “Kissing complicates things.”

 

Eames felt his heart clench painfully as realization hit him. This projection truly was as close to reality as he would ever get. Of _course_ Arthur would not want to be with him; why would he? All he did was annoy the man and make a nuisance of himself. The best he could ever hope for would be a moment of shared lust. Looking for anything more would simply get his heart broken and hopes shattered – hopes he should _not_ have in the first place, he reminded himself harshly. So he pushed aside his disappointment and told himself to enjoy what he was already lucky enough to have with Arthur. “Alright,” he nodded and retreated down the bed.

 

He did not waste any more time and immediately took Arthur into his mouth when he was back in place between spread thighs. He moved slowly, torturing his mark as he moved his lips down that pulsing length. Eames heard Arthur groan freely and the bell ring with movement and he smiled at the thought that _he_ was causing these reactions.

 

Arthur bucked his hips up; speeding up the time it took for his cock to touch the back of Eames’s throat. He fought his gag reflex and placed an authoritative hand on each hip to still the man’s movements. Once the man below him was still except for the trembling, he kept a steady pressure on those hips and began sucking hard as he slowly dragged his mouth upwards. He had to fight to keep Arthur’s hips immobile and he removed his mouth as unhurried as he could manage. The frantic yell Arthur released nearly caused Eames to come right then and there, groaning around his mouthful.

 

When he reached the tip he ghosted his breath over the skin teasingly before licking the tip and taking the length into his mouth again, swirling his tongue lazily. “Eames,” he heard Arthur whine when he had regained his breath, “Untie me.”

 

He pulled away with a smirk at Arthur’s final attempt for control. “No can do, love,” he chuckled, dropping chaste kisses along Arthur’s moist flesh. “This is about you giving me control. I want you to lie there and just feel and experience everything. Besides...” he trailed off to take Arthur in his mouth again, pulling another beautiful moan free of that controlled mouth. “I think having someone else in control for once turns you on.”

 

Arthur did not argue and Eames grinned, watching the other man’s body go entirely lax for a spare moment before dropping back down to work. He could understand why Arthur was getting all hot and bothered in a submissive position. For someone who was always in control, being out of control with someone else leading could be both terrifying and exhilarating, doubling the sense of pleasure with the novelty of the situation.

 

But Eames was surprised at how turned on _he_ was by the situation, Arthur moaning below him with abandon as he worked. Eames had always been rather flexible but usually preferred the dominant role during sex. So there was no novelty for him as his mark writhed in response to his mouth and tongue and fingers. He could only conclude that it was because it was _Arthur_ below him that he felt as if he could come any minute without any physical contact. He loved Arthur handing over control to him, trusting him to lead, and he felt a wave of possessive affection cloud his thoughts.

 

He dropped one hand down to gently roll the other man’s balls in his warm palm while maintaining control of Arthur’s hip with his other hand. He kept most of his weight on that one hip, keeping his balance at the same time as he sustained control. If this was reality he would have been concerned about leaving a bruise but knew there would be no issue when he woke up. And Arthur seemed to be enjoying the pressure.

 

With both of his hands occupied Eames began a steady pace as he took Arthur in and out of his mouth. Arthur was becoming rather vocal, something he had not expected, and hearing the normally-restrained man shout curses and moan as Eames’s tongue flicked against his length caused Eames to speed up his movements. He swiped his tongue over the tip occasionally to catch pooling precum and alternated between sucking and blowing as he bobbed his head.

 

Arthur’s muscles were tense under his touch and he could feel the man’s balls tighten warningly. The gasps and cries of pleasure were falling away to desperate pants as Arthur approached his end. “Eames...” he heard his name moaned and he looked up curiously, not breaking his momentum. He watched Arthur lick his lips and whine as their eyes met, “I need—I need...”

 

He could tell the other man didn’t even know what he was asking for; simply hoping that Eames would have an answer. And Eames did. He released his hold of Arthur’s shaking hip and drew his pointer finger around the base of the other man’s cock, coating it in escaping spit and precum as he continued to suck. He focused on fighting his gag reflex as Arthur bucked his hips up freely with no rhythm, searching for his end desperately.

 

Eames brought his prepared finger against Arthur’s hole, teasing it for a moment before pushing it past that tight ring of muscles quickly. The result was more than he could have ever imagined. Arthur’s spine arched until his back was off the mattress and his pulsing cock was shoved into Eames’s mouth hastily as he fell over the edge with a gasp. Eames’s hips jerked forward in envy, nearly coming himself as he heard Arthur shout his name, voice drenched with desperation and passion.

 

Eames had been prepared and he worked to swallow the ropes of hot come coating his throat hurriedly. Arthur’s body clenched around his finger as he continued to pump it in and out lazily, his mark’s body shuddering with its release. Finally Arthur’s cock began to soften and Eames licked him clean while pulling his finger out carefully. His mark’s back relaxed and he fell back onto the bed, panting and watching him. Eames pulled away and gave Arthur an affectionate smile, forgetting for just one moment that it was a projection when Arthur returned the smile.

 

He watched Arthur’s eyes drift closed, breathing slowing, and then Eames was lying on his back and staring up at his dark ceiling. His own breath was short and he felt his straining length brushing against his boxers and the bed sheets, damp with precum. “I thought those dreams were supposed to finish when _I_ do,” he grumbled in frustration as he dropped his hand to grip himself.

 

He pushed his boxers down swiftly and began a hasty pace, already desperately aroused and close to his own end. He slid his thumb over his tip as he imagined Arthur reaching his climax – back bowed, body tense, and Eames’s name tumbling from those precise lips like a prayer. That was all it took and he painted his own hand white, moaning his mark’s name quietly.

 

It took a long time for his body to calm down; hips thrusting up into his hand shallowly, breath short. Eventually he tugged his boxers off the rest of the way and used them to clean off his hand before throwing them to the floor. He fell back against his pillows, feeling exhaustion overtake him. It had felt so real - the most vivid dream he had ever experienced in his life. And he _wanted_ it to be real.

 

He felt his heart sink in disappointment, realizing that his dream was the closest he would ever get to sharing something like that with Arthur. He understood then that he should have ended the dream before it began, because now he would never be able to look at Arthur – at _his mark_ – the same way again. Eames had sampled what it could be like and he would always want more now.

 

He threw the sheets over his head, angry at himself and the world in general. “Fuck.”


	7. Day Four: Arthur

 **Day Four  
**

** _Arthur_ **

 

He could not remember how long it had taken him to fall back to sleep after his dream, but it must have taken a while because it was late morning when he groggily blinked his eyes open. That’s what he got for not setting his alarm. And, you know, having wet dreams about his mark. Arthur groaned, face stuffed into the nearest pillow, and debated over remaining in bed for the rest of the day.

 

He could not imagine facing Eames after last night. What if he slipped up and did something embarrassing like act as if the dream had actually happened? Or worse, what if he broke down and asked the _real_ Eames to do that to him? He felt his cheeks grow warm against the cool material of the pillow at the thought, a mix of horrifying embarrassment and lust.

 

That was enough to drag him out of bed, angry enough at himself to rustle up some determination. He was going to prove to himself that one little wet dream didn’t change anything, that he could continue sightseeing with Eames without a single issue. He was calm, cool, and collected; he could handle anything. He was always in control – even if his subconscious didn’t think he should be. That thought caused him to shove his soiled boxers into his bag for laundry a little harshly before he disappeared into the shower.

 

Once he was finished he stood in front of his closet, debating on what to wear. His first inclination was towards another suit but he took pause, reconsidering. The last two days of sightseeing he had frozen to death in his suits and Eames had been...confusing. Confusing and annoying. So, in hopes of avoiding the excess attention from his mark, Arthur left his suits on their hangers and slipped on a pair of jeans. As he tugged a shirt on, found a sweater, and got his hair in its proper place, Arthur skimmed through websites to write down sights for Fisherman’s Wharf.

 

It did not take long for him to get ready. Wearing casual clothing, list of attractions folded neatly in one pocket, wallet in the other and sunglasses held nervously in his hand, Arthur stared at his door. He was being utterly ridiculous and he knew it. The dream had happened and there was nothing he could do to change that. All he had to do was push it out of his memory, act normal, and continue asking Eames more questions to complete his job. Simple.

 

With a self-assuring nod he exited his room and walked the short distance over to Eames’s. He knocked loudly a few times and then stood, waiting. When no one answered the door he glanced at his watch and knocked again, wondering what was keeping Eames. It was almost eleven o’clock now; the man _had_ to be awake. But it took another few minutes of solid, constant knocking before he finally heard slow footsteps approach the door.

 

When the door was pulled inward, Eames looked like the majority of his brain was still asleep. But when his mark saw him standing in the doorway, Eames immediately stiffened, eyes widening slightly. “Morning, lov-darl-Arthur,” Eames seemed to wince with each pet name he chose.

 

Arthur wasn’t doing much better himself, feeling his heart flutter and mouth go dry as images from his dream consumed his mind. It did not help that Eames seemed to have only taken the time to pull pants on before answering the door, chest bare. “Good morning,” he responded stiffly, trying to regain control of his wandering brain. “What took you so long to answer?” he asked in an attempt to steer the conversation away from the sudden awkwardness hanging in the air.

 

“I jus’ woke up,” Eames slurred, emphasizing his point as he ran his fingers through his mussed hair.

 

“Rough night?” he asked politely, thinking of his own frustrating night.

 

“Guess you could call it that,” his mark mumbled, looking distracted by his own thoughts. Arthur stood there for a few moments, not knowing what to say, and suddenly Eames seemed to realize he had been staring off into thin air, “Oh, I’ll need to shower and get ready. Where are we eating breakfast?”

 

“I figured we could try that bistro again for a light breakfast before we catch the trolley,” Arthur stated simply, feeling a little more comfortable now that he was controlling the situation.

 

“Alright, how about you head down now and I’ll meet you?” Eames offered, already taking a step back into his room.

 

“You don’t want me to...wait for you?” he asked hesitantly.

 

“No, it’s fine. I’ll see you soon,” was the only response he received before the door closed in his face. Arthur blinked, staring at the golden 1730 as he felt his stomach drop. Of course, what had he been expecting to happen? Last night had not actually happened so there was no reason for him to expect Eames to treat him with affection, or flirt with him or...kiss him...

 

Arthur scoffed at the direction of his own misguided thought process and walked stiffly towards the elevators. But as he rode the elevator down, silently shoved between what seemed like a family reunion from Texas, he thought that Eames might have been acting different from his usual self. To be fair, Arthur had not known the man for long. But from how his mark had acted the first few days they had spent together, the other man and definitely been acting differently when he opened the door.

 

Not altered in the sense his hopeful mind had been expecting; almost the opposite actually. Eames had seemed uncomfortable and unsure of himself around Arthur, as if Arthur had done something to offend the man. He felt a flutter of nerves in his chest that made him feel sick as he sat down in an empty booth at the bistro at the thought. There was no way Eames could know about his dream...could he?

 

No, it was impossible. Eames would have no way of knowing that anything had changed in Arthur’s mind unless he began acting different. So he just had to remain calm and continue treating Eames the way he was _supposed_ to be treating him: as a mark.

 

He ordered a cup of coffee and waited until Eames arrived, feeling much more relaxed after his mental discussion. He was going to become the world’s best Point Man, working with the best Extractor. Remaining collected, in control, and impersonal was what he did best. This would not even be a challenge, he assured himself.

 

Those thoughts worked exceptionally well...until Eames entered the bistro. The other man’s sharp eyes met his immediately and Eames wandered over to sit across from him. It seemed that Eames only noticed he was not in a suit now, too tired earlier in the hotel to pay proper attention. Arthur felt himself tense up under that scrutinizing gaze as his mark raised an eyebrow. “Not in a suit today, darling?” he asked, pet name spoken so softly that it almost fell away behind the radio music.

 

He had never expected to think that hearing Eames use pet names on him would feel comforting. But after his concern over Eames’s peculiar behaviour it felt surprisingly reassuring. “Yes – so you would have one less thing to bother me about.”

 

Eames seemed to miss the taunt, still distracted by Arthur’s clothing. “I really like this sweater...the material looks very good on you...” his mark appeared to be in a daze as he lifted one hand up and brushed the back of his fingers up Arthur’s sleeve.

 

He swallowed nervously, focusing on the feel of Eames brushing his fingers up his forearm, touch hindered by only one layer of clothing. His eyes followed the progression of those dangerous fingers as they slowly glided up to his inner elbow before skimming back down towards his lax hand, resting palm up on the table. Arthur knew he should pull away, not knowing what he would do when Eames’s fingers brushed along his palm, but he remained motionless.

 

One nail gently grazed his uncovered wrist when a bubbly, female voice suddenly spoke beside them, “Hi! What can I get for you this morning?”

 

Arthur pulled his arm away so hastily that he hit his elbow against the edge of the table, groaning in pain as his arm throbbed. Eames pulled away just as quickly, as if he had been burned, but he recovered faster. “Um, yes, I’ll have the...” he scrambled for the menu, glancing at it quickly, “# 2 breakfast special with hash browns on the side.”

 

“Alright,” the young waitress scribbled down the order, entirely unaware of the tension in the air, “and for you?”

 

“I’ll have the pancakes,” he responded blindly, not having glanced at the menu.

 

“What kind of pancakes?” bright green eyes looked up from the pad of paper to watch him curiously.

 

“I don’t care,” he grumbled, still massaging his throbbing elbow.

 

“Oh but we have so many kinds! Blueberry, raspberry, chocolate chip...” the waitress was clearly preparing for a long list, counting off options on her fingers.

 

“Blueberry,” he cut her off before she could gain momentum.

 

“Good choice! I’ll be back soon with your orders and I’ll bring some coffee for you,” she glanced at Eames with a friendly smile before she practically skipped away.

 

Arthur had wanted her to leave, but the moment she was gone the silence around them quickly became oppressive and he wished she needed to clarify an order. He busied himself with his elbow and then his cutlery while Eames paid avid attention to the sugar packets, ordering them by colour and brand. It was not until they had received their food that they spoke again. Arthur noticed Eames’s sudden look of disappointment as an omelette was set in front of him. “Do you even like eggs?” he asked curiously.

 

“No,” his mark admitted sadly, proving that he had simply ordered the first thing on the menu that he had seen.

 

With a resigned sigh, Arthur reached over and picked up Eames’s plate before handing over his blueberry pancakes. Eames looked up at him in confusion and he just shrugged, taking his first bite of the omelette, “I don’t mind omelettes.”

 

Eames blinked at him and then gave him a tiny smile of thanks before pouring a mountain of syrup onto his newfound pancakes. As the awkward moment finally evaded, they ate in a comfortable silence until they had paid the bill and were on their way to Market Street. “So what are the plans for today?”

 

“Everything at Fisherman’s Wharf takes a relatively short amount of time to do so I have a list for the day,” he explained as they showed their transit passes to the trolley conductor and shuffled to some empty seats near the back.

 

“Like what?” Eames asked, turning in his seat slightly to watch the passing city through the windows.

 

“You’ll just have to wait and see,” he responded smugly, pleased that he was finally leading the sightseeing adventure.

 

He felt a wave of excited nerves when Eames glanced over at him, looking like he was about to say something. The feel of bindings around his wrists and leather around his neck flashed through his mind for a split second before he refocused his attention on his mark, who was smirking, “Alright love, enjoy your day of leading while it lasts.”

 

“Day?” Arthur questioned, raising an eyebrow.

 

“Oh I’ve already planned the rest of our week. I hope that doesn’t _bother_ you,” Eames smirked at him and Arthur decided quite suddenly that his mark was too close. He shifted away in his seat as subtly as he could but Eames continued, “Come on, darling. When have I ever led you astray?”

 

Arthur blinked, successfully maintaining enough restraint to keep his blush down. Eames was watching him, suddenly looking uncertain, and he looked away and out through the window. “This is our stop,” he stood hastily, grabbing the handrail just in time to save himself from toppling over as the trolley rolled to a stop.

 

He stepped off the trolley and moved onto the sidewalk, Eames coming to stand beside him as they stood out of the way of the wave of tourists. He and his mark watched each other for a perplexing moment and then Eames opened his mouth to speak. But before he got a word out a series of distinctive barks cut him off. Eames raised a confused eyebrow and looked around, “What the hell was that?”

 

“The first sight on our list,” he smirked.

 

“Lead on,” Eames gave a flourish with one hand, pulling on his sunglasses with his other hand and smirking in return. Arthur pulled on his own sunglasses and began walking along the restaurants until he came to the right intersection and turned down a smaller path. He was pleased that searching up tourist attractions and maps was a lot simpler and less stressful than trying to learn everything there was to know about a mark. With his morning research stored away in the back of his mind it did not take long for the water to come into view; and with it, a pier covered in “Sea lions!”

 

Arthur shoved his hands deep into his sweater’s pockets as a chilly breeze came off the water, though it was not nearly as uncomfortable as the day before with his new attire and the sun burning high in the sky above them. He followed behind Eames at a slower pace as his mark headed over to a railing to look out at the collection of barking, Californian sea lions.  “Apparently they have been coming here for years - to the point that they’re considered a regular attraction here,” he spoke as he came to stand beside the other man.

 

Eames nodded, not paying much attention to him as he watched the sea lions. A minute later he saw a solitary sea lion waddle along the pier towards them. “Arthur, look! He likes me!” Eames leaned further over the railing as the sea lion stopped and looked up at them, barking excitedly. And then, much to Arthur’s surprise, Eames tried to bark back – and he did a pretty good job of imitating the sound as well. Arthur covered his mouth to stifle his laugh as the sea lion began bobbing its head and barking in response. Eventually Eames noticed him and grinned, “Are you laughing at me?”

 

“Absolutely,” he chuckled into his sleeve, not even minding the odd looks other tourists were giving them in that moment.

 

“Well how about you give it a shot then, darling,” Eames challenged, clearly having fun.

 

When he finally gained control of his laughter he dropped his arm, though a smile was still tugging at his lips, “No, I think I’ll leave the imitations to you.”

 

He was confused as his mark appeared to tense up, his smile dropping. Despite the fact that neither of them had moved an inch, he suddenly felt very far away from Eames. Before he could ask about it though, the other man turned his back to the sea lions, “What’s next on the list?”

 

“The aquarium...” he answered hesitantly, trying to understand what had just caused the extreme shift in mood.

 

“Alright, let’s go,” Eames pushed himself away from the railing, Arthur having no choice but to follow silently as he led Eames the short walk towards the aquarium. He noticed, feeling rather sick, that the other man made sure there was always distance between them as they walked side by side on the sidewalk; other tourists often walked between them because of the gap.

 

The Aquarium of the Bay was much less enjoyable than he had been expecting, mainly because it involved him and Eames standing an awkward distance from one another as they watched giant fish tanks silently. They walked from one tank to the next at a measured pace, standing in front of each tank for an unspoken amount of ‘required’ time before moving on. He could barely enjoy the brightly coloured fish and other sea creatures, feeling uncomfortable and disappointed. When he stole the occasional glance at the other man, he looked just as uncomfortable even though he was the one who had begun acting oddly. “Let’s go somewhere else,” he eventually spoke.

 

“Okay,” Eames responded immediately with a rather uninterested shrug. “Where to?” he asked as they headed toward the exit.

 

“How about you choose?” Arthur looked away as he slid his sunglasses back in place, the sun immediately warming him as they stepped onto the pavement. He hoped that allowing Eames a chance to choose the next sight might brighten his mood a bit. “We could go to the Ripley’s Believe it or Not! Museum, or to the Wax Museum.”

 

“You decide, Arthur,” Eames slipped his own sunglasses on, purposefully avoiding Arthur’s gaze.

 

“Eames,” he spoke harshly, surprised at how frustrated he was becoming. He knew it probably wasn’t a good thing that his mood seemed so interwoven with his mark’s. But as he saw Eames glance over at him in surprise, he felt a grim sense of determination to fix whatever had caused this downturn, “Just pick one.”

 

“Ripley’s, I suppose,” the other man finally decided, still sounding rather dull. Arthur decided to ignore this and checked his map briefly for the quickest route to the museum.

 

When they first arrived he was starting to believe that the entire day would consist of tense silences and awkward postures. They moved through the exhibits in silence, parents being dragged by excited children between them. But then he decided that he had to do something to try and dispel the sour mood even if he did not understand what had caused it. They were standing a short distance apart in front of a rather bizarre piece of art that took up half the wall. “I don’t get it,” he spoke into the silence tentatively.

 

“That’s because you’re looking at it wrong,” Eames responded quickly, as if he had been waiting for Arthur to break the silence. Immediately, the other man was beside him, “You need to look at it like...” Arthur felt a warm palm on the side of his head, tilting his head until it was parallel to the floor, “like that.”

 

He glanced over the painting with the new perspective, quickly understanding what he was supposed to be seeing. But more than anything he was distracted by his sense of triumph and the feel of the other man’s warm hand on him. “Oh,” he answered dumbly, straightening again when Eames removed his hand.

 

Eames was giving him a victorious smile, “I bet I can make it through the mirror maze before you.”

 

“I doubt that,” he responded challengingly, conversation suddenly coming to him easily. They headed over to the entrance of the maze and Eames ducked in immediately for a ‘head start’ while Arthur stayed back to read the information board. One hundred mirrors, over two thousand square feet of maze, dead ends, and endless circles – this was going to be an interesting challenge.

 

He entered the maze at a slower pace than his mark, taking slow deliberate steps as he skimmed his fingers along the mirrors around him. It was dizzying, seeing an unlimited number of Arthurs staring back at him, but he focused on creating a mental map of the maze for himself as he worked his way around the mirrors. He figured he was about halfway through when he heard his name being called by a rather distressed-sounding Eames, voice ricocheting off the glass. “Arthur! Help! I’m lost!”

 

He groaned, knowing that he would probably lose his place and get lost if he diverted from his chosen path. But he turned around anyway, “Keep talking, you idiot. I can’t find you otherwise.”

 

“Oh that’s very nice of you to say...” Eames began muttering continuously, half to complain and half to help Arthur find him. He tuned out the actual words and focused on how sound would bounce off the angled glass to determine where he would find his mark. It took about ten minutes and three false alarms where Arthur ran into Eames’s reflection, but finally he found the man in the flesh. “Oh thank god! You see that penny, darling?”

 

Arthur looked down at the floor, seeing the penny Eames was pointing at, “Yes.”

 

“I’ve passed that penny _three_ times!” the other man wailed. “I don’t even know where the bloody entrance is, anymore.”

 

“Yes, well that’s what happens when you run into a maze without thinking,” he rolled his eyes, “or without reading the information board.”

 

“Then get us out of here, all-knowing one,” Eames bowed, looking more amused than displeased.

 

“Easily,” Arthur smirked lightly before turning back to the hallway he knew he had just come from. He felt Eames grip the fabric of his sweater, fingers brushing against his spine and causing him to shiver slightly, “What are you, five?”

 

“Yes?” his mark spoke impishly. He just sighed and allowed it as he began his attempt at retracing his steps. It took another twenty minutes, two dead ends, and three attempts at telling Eames to be quiet before they finally came to the exit. “Well done, love!” Eames finally let go of his sweater as they walked back into the sunlight, “Where would I be without you?”

 

“Circling a penny in a maze of one hundred mirrors until the cleaning staff finally came to save you,” he deadpanned, barely able to contain his laughter.

 

“True,” Eames laughed outright as they headed for the exit. Arthur hated how pleased that light-hearted laugh made him feel. “So, Wax Museum now? I have to say, darling, you don’t exactly have the most adventurous ideas for sightseeing.”

 

“These were the top recommended sights to see at Fisherman’s Wharf,” he defended lightly, knowing that Eames was just teasing. He was secretly enjoying their banter now that things seemed to have returned to normal.

 

“Suuuurrre,” Eames drew out the word, still laughing.

 

Now that they were both in a better mood, the wax museum was rather enjoyable despite the fact that – as Eames had predicted – it was a little dull. His mark rushed around to pose with different wax figures and quote embarrassingly corny lines. He didn’t really have any reason to be humiliated though since they had the place more or less to themselves, everyone else out in the sunlight. Besides, it was Eames who was making gun shapes with his fingers and muttering ‘Thank you, thank you very much!’ next to a wax-Elvis. He was just an innocent bystander.

 

Arthur had to admit that he was impressed with Eames’s skill in mimicking voices, expressions, and postures. Maybe the man had a chance at being whatever type of actor he was aiming for after all. Eventually they came across the Hollywood stars and some characters from movies, including Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet in their roles for _Titanic_. “Come on, love, I’ve always wanted to try this,” Eames was motioning him towards a recreation of the Titanic’s bow.

 

“I’d rather not,” he planted his feet with purpose a few feet away from the fake boat bow when he realized what Eames was referring to.

 

“Stop being so bloody self-conscious,” the other man hopped off the tiny stage and grabbed his wrist, forcefully dragging him back towards the bow, “It’s not like there’s anyone else in here anyway.”

 

“That’s not the point,” he grumbled, half allowing himself to be dragged and pulled up onto the tiny stage.

 

Eames just laughed, “Okay, close your eyes.”

 

“You have _got_ to be joking,” Arthur began pulling away more insistently now, feeling a blush threaten to overtake him.

 

“Just do it,” Eames’s smile was the last thing he saw as he hesitantly closed his eyes, feeling stupid with a flock of butterflies in his stomach. He felt himself being gently tugged up to the railing, which he grabbed quickly. “Okay, now step onto the railing.”

 

“No,” Arthur grumbled.

 

Eames sighed behind him, “Alright, we’ll work around your shyness.” Arthur swallowed; that almost sounded like a promise. “And keep your eyes closed; don’t peek.”

 

“I’m not,” he complained impatiently, feeling the heat of his blush on his cheeks.

 

He swallowed as he felt Eames’s hands come to rest on his hips, slowly inching him forward with an amused chuckle. “We’re not actually going to fall into an ocean if you topple off the railing, you know.”

 

Arthur sighed in frustration and stepped up onto the railing, more to shut the man up than anything else. He was thankful that there was no one else around as he felt Eames clamour up onto the railing behind him; too close and yet not quite close enough for that tiny part of his mind that had set his heart aflutter. “Better?” he griped.

 

“Much, now you just have to put your arms out,” Eames had stopped laughing at this point, though he could still hear the humour in his mark’s tone. Arthur didn’t move, embarrassed and not quite trusting his own balance to let go of the railing, “Don’t you trust me, love?”

 

“I suppose,” he admitted quietly, still not quite sure how that trust for his mark had come to exist. He allowed Eames to pull his hands from the railing and spread them outward, feeling the other man keep them both balanced. He opened his eyes when they were in that famous stance, “Oh look, Eames...I’m flying,” he deadpanned sarcastically.

 

Eames burst out laughing, twining his fingers in Arthur’s and pulling his arms in around his waist, “Way to ruin a moment, darling.”

 

Arthur felt the other man’s breath on his neck and he glanced over, getting caught in Eames’s gaze. Eames suddenly looked content and contemplative, watching Arthur searchingly. He couldn’t bring himself to look away, even when he felt Eames’s breath fan over his face as his mark leaned closer. Eames was still holding his waist, his fingers loosely trapped between the other man’s, relaxed. He closed his eyes, nervous and excited about the uncertainty of the moment as he leaned in as well.

 

“Mommy look! It’s just like the movie!” a little girl with blonde pigtails skipped into the room and giggled. Arthur’s eyes flashed open and he stumbled away from Eames, nearly causing both of them to fall to the wooden floor. Luckily, Eames grabbed a railing with one hand, regaining balance and catching Arthur before he fell.

 

“Let’s give them some privacy, Marie,” the girl’s mother took her hand and gently led her away to a different room, blushing for the sake of their embarrassment.

 

Arthur was blushing furiously, mortified as he stepped away from the Titanic bow as quickly as he could manage. He couldn’t believe he had allowed Eames to talk him into that – couldn’t believe that he had almost kissed Eames! What was he _thinking_? Clearly he hadn’t been thinking at all. Sightseeing with his mark? That was one thing. Having a wet dream about his mark? That was another. But _kissing_ his mark in _reality_? He couldn’t do this.

 

It was so wrong on every level. He was stealing this man’s secrets, lying to him, using him as a stepping stone to get a job he wanted. It wasn’t fair to Eames. Nor, now that he thought about it, was it fair to himself. He would never see Eames again after this week together – you weren’t supposed to spend quality time with a mark after you finished a job. And what would he do then? All he could do would be to force himself to move on. Indulging in his desires now would only make it harder later.

 

Eames was cackling evilly at his humiliation, immediately lifting his level of embarrassment just by showing him how to take it good-naturedly. He felt a small pain in his chest, realizing that after getting this close it was going to hurt to put distance between them again. Eames seemed to notice that something was off, thinking that he was either taking this too seriously or that something else was wrong. He came up beside him and nudged him softly, “You alright? It was just a bit of fun.”

 

That hurt even more, hearing Eames tell him that he had just been playing around and that the moment had been one-sided. But he focused on that pain, hoping it would help him create some distance. He stepped away from Eames’s touch stiffly, “Yes, I’m fine.”

 

“You don’t seem fine,” his mark stepped in front of him again, all of the playfulness out of his face and voice.

 

“Well I am,” he restated, heading for the exit.

 

Eames rushed along behind him as they left the museum, the sun lower in the sky now. “Look I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you that much – I didn’t know that girl was going to walk in.”

 

He swallowed down his disappointment, walking aimlessly. Eames thought that he was just embarrassed and he couldn’t explain the true reason for his sudden shift in mood so he followed that, “It’s fine; it was just a little fun after all, right?” Eames didn’t respond and he glanced back at his mark harshly, needing that flash of pain to solidify his decision to push the other man away, “_Right_?”

 

“...Right,” Eames met his eyes briefly before looking away, watching his feet as they continued walking.

 

Arthur nodded and looked forward again, “Besides, you’re a terrible actor. No wonder you aren’t listed for any works.”

 

“Searching for me online, are you, pet?” Eames muttered curiously. Arthur paused in his step, realizing his mistake too late. But before he could try to cover it up, Eames continued, “It’s alright. I don’t mind.”

 

Arthur began walking again at a brisk pace, quickly changing topics, “It’s getting late so we might as well get some dinner before heading back to the hotel. They say you can’t leave Fisherman’s Wharf without trying some of the seafood.”

 

Eames did not even respond, following him silently. He followed the printed directions to a famous restaurant along the waterfront, pushing his humiliation and regret to the back of his mind. Impressing his employer and getting this job was his primary goal – everything else was secondary. Yet he still stopped mid-step without a thought when he heard Eames’s voice call his name softly, “Arthur?”

 

“What?” he asked quietly, anger melted away to a tiring sadness.

 

“Come see,” Eames motioned him towards a crowd of people. He had not realized he had been walking by so many street performers, too wrapped up in his own thoughts. But he came to stand beside his mark in the tiny space he had created for them, watching a street artist airbrush something onto a canvas. “Aren’t they beautiful?” Eames whispered beside him, comment almost swept away by the quiet murmur of other tourists watching.

 

He glanced over the other paintings that had been set out to dry and for tourists to buy. There was a huge variety of subjects – near-naked women, cars, planets and stars, flowers and forest scenes, views of San Francisco sights – but they were all gorgeous with love and devotion put into each one. He looked at his mark, noting the small smile on the man’s face. “Which one is your favourite?”

 

Eames quirked his lips to one side, thinking. “The sun and the moon,” he eventually responded, pointing at the painting close to the edge of the watching crowd. Arthur looked over to see the painting his mark was pointing at. It was a painting of the sun and the moon on an inky dark backdrop, similar to the design you often saw where they were half and half – creating one whole. The colours complemented one another beautifully as the two celestial bodies intertwined. And curiously, the face on both the sun and the moon held a small, coy smile...as if they shared a secret.

 

He stepped carefully through the crowd, picking up the painting and ignoring Eames’s questions behind him. “Excuse me, can I buy this?” he caught the artist’s attention, who nodded and set aside his brushes to wrap up the painting. He pulled out the right number of bills and exchanged them for the delicately wrapped painting, stepping back through the crowd to hand Eames the painting, “Here.”

 

“Arthur...darling...” the other man gaped, at a loss for words. Arthur took that as a compliment since it didn’t seem to happen often.

 

“Don’t argue. Just...think of it as a memento for our week, alright?” he rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly feeling bashful. He was not quite sure what had possessed him to buy Eames the painting, besides the man’s content smile when he looked at it. He just wanted Eames to enjoy this week, even if Arthur could not. And some small, selfish part of him didn’t want Eames to forget about him and this week after they had parted ways.

 

“Thank you, love,” Eames smiled and gave him a quick hug, voice more genuine than Arthur had ever heard from someone before.

 

“You’re welcome,” he pulled away from the embrace slowly, wondering why life was never simple. “Now let’s get some food; I’m starving.”

 

They crossed the remaining distance to one of the waterfront restaurants on pier 47 made famous for the food and the daily blues performances. They managed to steal one of the last free tables and settled down just as the evening’s live performance began. He ordered the recommended clam chowder in a sourdough bread bowl while Eames ordered the southern fried calamari. When asked, Arthur allowed Eames to try a bit of his dinner in exchange for a bite of calamari, allowing himself a short moment to bask in the odd comfort and familiarity of the action.

 

When they were finished they paid and left promptly, knowing there was a long line of people waiting for a table. He was headed towards the intersection where they were going to catch the trolley back to the hotel, but Eames’s voice stopped him again, “Arthur!”

 

“What?” he glanced around, trying to spot Eames who had disappeared into the crowd, “Eames?”

 

“Here!” he saw a hand waving at him in the dim lighting, sun close to setting. Arthur followed the frantically waving hand until he was standing beside Eames, swarms of tourists streaming around them. “Look!”

 

He followed Eames’s finger and raised an eyebrow, “It’s a carousel.”

 

“It’s a _carousel_!” Eames repeated excitedly.

 

Arthur looked back at the other man, “...And?”

 

“The world is wasted on you, darling,” Eames grabbed his wrist and began tugging him towards the spinning carousel. “Two please!” he handed over the coins to the attendant as the carousel slowed to a stop, bubbly music playing from speakers and lights lit up and flashing in preparation for the evening darkness.

 

“You really are five, aren’t you?” he asked in amusement as he was pulled up onto the carousel. “We probably won’t even fit on anything.”

 

“If you want something badly enough and you fight for it, anything is possible,” Eames glanced at him seriously for a moment before his mark got distracted and hopped up onto a horse to prove his point.

 

Arthur followed suit, not quite trusting the brightly decorated horse below him to hold his weight. Over the next few minutes the carousel filled up with children and their parents, who all gave them looks varying between amusement and disdain. Soon the music grew louder and the carousel began spinning, horses bobbing up and down slowly. He couldn’t help but laugh at the gleeful grin decorating Eames’s face as they circled around. It reminded him that sometimes you could find happiness in small actions and moments.

 

When the ride was finished they headed off to the trolley, Eames guarding his painting from the swarming masses pressing in around them like it was his firstborn child. The trolley was stuffed full of people, everyone leaving the tourist attractions for the evening, and he was grateful for the fresh air when they stepped off a few minutes later by the main ferry building.

 

“I have a challenge for you,” Eames began mysteriously as they exited the elevator.

 

“Oh?” Arthur began peeling off his sweater as they walked, finding the hotel too warm after they had spent the majority of the day in the sun. “What would that be?”

 

“It’s a secret. Just get changed into something comfortable, keep the sweater, and come over to my room,” his mark smirked as he passed Arthur’s door, “And bring your wine.”

 

He raised an eyebrow and entered his room silently, setting his wallet and sunglasses on the dresser. He decided that he was already comfortable in what he was wearing so he draped his sweater over one arm, shoved his key into his back pocket, and grabbed his wine. He studied the bottle as he headed back out into the hallway, knowing that nothing involving Eames and wine together could be safe for his wellbeing. But he knocked on 1730 all the same.

 

“That was faster than I was expecting,” Eames laughed as he opened the door, in the process of pulling a t-shirt down over his chest, “I figured you’d take ‘comfortable’ as an order to put on a suit.” Eames waved him into the room, disappearing into the closet to pull out a different hoodie from what he had been wearing that day. “Were you wearing that shirt all day?”

 

“Yes?” Arthur looked down at his shirt in confusion, sweater still wrapped around his arm.

 

“You actually _own_ t-shirts?” his mark teased as he slipped his sweater on.

 

“Yes,” he grumbled, following suit and slipping his own sweater on. “So what is this challenge?”

 

“Come,” Eames smirked, heading further into the room to pull his own wine bottle from the mini fridge. He saw the painting he had bought Eames propped up delicately on the dresser beside the television. Arthur followed as they headed across the somewhat-messy room and stepped out onto the balcony, understanding why he needed the sweater. The sun had set down and it was growing chilly even though they were somewhat protected from the wind. Eames set his wine bottle down on the table in front of a wicker couch covered in cushions, nearly identical to the one on Arthur’s balcony. “You sit down, there’s one more thing we need.”

 

Arthur kicked off his shoes and sat down on one end of the couch, piling up pillows to his liking as the other man disappeared into the room.  When he returned, Eames threw the duvet from his bed over the couch and slid under it to lean against the opposite arm of the couch with his own pile of pillows. Arthur pulled the duvet over himself, tucking the edges under his legs to block out all the wind, and snuggled down. He couldn’t believe how cozy he felt there, unwilling to move even when Eames’s sock-covered feet brushed against his own. “So the game is Truth, Dare, or Drink.”

 

“...or drink?” he raised an eyebrow, working the cork out of his bottle’s neck with the corkscrew before handing it over to Eames.

 

“Yup; it’s regular Truth or Dare, except if you refuse to answer a question or do a dare, you have to drink,” Eames explained, a loud ‘pop’ echoing around them as he removed his own cork.

 

“And where did this come from exactly?” he tucked his chin under the blanket as the breeze picked up slightly.

 

“Well it has been pretty obvious that you wanted to ask me questions but are too shy to ask properly or something like that, so I thought I’d help you out,” Eames grinned, taking his first sip just because he wanted to drink. “I’m taking that as a forced Truth, so Truth or Dare?”

 

“Dare,” he answered, eyes narrowed.

 

“Take off your sweater,” Eames quirked his eyebrow suggestively.

 

“No, I’ll freeze!”

 

“Then drink.” Arthur took his first sip, tasting the bitterness of the wine sit on his tongue as the liquid pooled in his stomach, warming him up slightly. “And I’ll take a Truth.”

 

“Well you already know I tried searching you as an actor online and couldn’t find anything. So what do you do as a job?” he decided to ask first, a thousand questions swirling around in his mind. He couldn’t believe his opportunity to ask any question he wanted without having to explain his reasoning.

 

He glared when Eames drank rather than answered, “Sorry, love. Truth or Dare?”

 

“Truth.”

 

“Why are you so interested in asking me questions?” Arthur drank. “Dare.”

 

“Drink some of my wine,” Arthur handed the bottle over, taking Eames when he passed it into his hands.

 

“Only if you drink some of mine as well,” he smirked and they both took a long drink. They exchanged bottles again and Eames snorted, “You’re so G-rated, darling.”

 

He huffed and looked out over the railing at the Bay, “Truth.”

 

“Did you like my wine with _strawberries_?”

 

Arthur rolled his eyes, “Yes.”

 

“Good; yours was better than I expected as well. Truth for me,” he took another sip of his own wine and Arthur wondered if he was trying to get drunk.

 

“Favourite class in school and why,” Arthur took his own sip of wine, enjoying how it kept him warm despite the fact that the temperature of the air was still dropping.

 

“Hm...” his mark looked out over the railing while he thought, “I’d have to say a mix between Theatre and Psychology. Theatre because I got to pretend to be someone I wasn’t, and Psychology because I got to learn about everything that’s happening behind someone’s expressions and actions.”

 

Eames looked at him expectantly, “Truth.”

 

“Do you secretly enjoy my pet names and terms of endearment?” the other man asked him, looking genuinely curious.

 

He had his bottle halfway to his mouth when he paused and set it down again, “Yes. Truth or Dare?” he asked before Eames could say anything more on the matter.

 

“Truth, love,” his mark smiled at him, purposefully slipping the pet name in there for his benefit.

 

It continued on like that for a long time, Arthur losing track of how much time had passed as their wine bottles slowly emptied. He had learned so much more about his mark in this one evening than he had from sightseeing or researching combined, and he was enjoying himself. He had learned a lot more about Eames’s school years – what he had studied and why, how he had been bullied and then gotten a growth spurt and started getting suspended for beating up his former attackers, how he had dropped out of university before he graduated because he knew he wasn’t learning the practical knowledge he needed for the work he wanted.

 

He learned more about Eames’s family – how his mother and grandmother had always knitted him blankets, hats, scarves, and mittens, how he had never known his father’s parents, how much he had hated Christmas dinners because they were so stressful and fake, more about his mother and how lost he had felt after she had been killed. How relieved he had felt when his father had killed himself. He learned that Eames’s favourite cologne reminded him of his grandfather, that he was allergic to pineapple and ragweed, and that if he was rich he would buy a motorcycle and travel around the world.

 

Arthur also began divulging secrets about himself, more than he had originally planned to. But as the game continued he felt the desire to tell Eames everything, wanted them to become closer, so he answered any question that would not give away his job or the fact that Eames was his mark. Family stories, school stories, his first kiss, his favourite foods, and the places he wanted to travel to and see. He was a little surprised at how interested Eames seemed, watching him closely whenever he answered a question.

 

He felt a pleasant buzz in his body, warm under the duvet, as his wine continued to disappear. His legs were tangled with Eames’s, both of them stretched out on the couch lazily and lacking the room to do so without touching – not that either of them seemed to mind in that moment. Both of their bottles were close to empty, Eames’s splashing around the bottom with only a few mouthfuls left while Arthur still had about a quarter remaining. And as the wine disappeared, the questions and dares became more perilous.

 

“Do you find me attractive?” Eames ventured curiously, chuckling.

 

“Yes,” he spoke into his bottle, drinking to drown his embarrassment. “Same question.”

 

Eames scoffed lightly, “I haven’t been able to take my eyes off you since I saw you, darling.” He and Eames watched each other silently for a few moments, bottles cradled in their hands. “Truth or dare?”

 

“Dare,” he breathed, trying to remain focused.

 

“Come here,” Eames motioned towards his end of the couch. Nervous, Arthur pushed himself away from his end of the couch and slid closer to his mark. When he was close enough, Eames gently grasped him around the waist and spun him around before pulling him backwards. Arthur found himself sitting on the cushions with his back against Eames’s chest, legs still entwined. One of Eames’s arms was wrapped around him while the other one was free to hold his bottle. “Stay there for the rest of the game,” Eames spoke it like a request rather than a dare.

 

Arthur craned his neck to look up at the other man, holding his wine bottle in one hand and hesitantly letting his other hand rest on top of Eames’s hand, which was resting on his stomach. “Truth or dare?”

 

“Truth.”

 

“Why were you acting so oddly today? You seemed awkward, tense and uncomfortable,” he tried to elaborate, feeling daring with his question.

 

He saw Eames raise his bottle, about to drink, but then his mark dropped it again. There was silence between them for a few minutes, the sound of night-time traffic and distant music from the main ferry building drifting up to the balcony. “I feel more for you than I should,” Eames suddenly spoke by his ear, breath tickling his skin. “Same question.”

 

Arthur bit his lip, looking out through the railing at the busy nightscape. He took note of the warmth radiating off the other man, soaking into his back. He considered the fact that he had his legs tangled with Eames’s legs, the position speaking of a comfort and familiarity that shouldn’t be there. He memorized the feeling of his mark’s finger absentmindedly tracing designs on his stomach through the fabric of his shirt, and of the tingling it caused in his spine.

 

Admitting it to himself, safely tucked away in his head, was something he should not have done. Admitting it to Eames, out loud, was even worse - dangerous. It would make all of this far too real, too complicated, too painful when it all came crashing to an end. But he was on the edge of drunk and Eames had already admitted it to him so he felt like being brave and stupid for once in his life. After all, he at least owed the other man this truth, “Same answer.”

 

Eames sighed, breath brushing along his bare neck. He felt the other man gently tug the wine bottle from his hand, setting both bottles on the table before wrapping his arms around Arthur tightly. He was pulled closer against Eames’s chest and he rested his head on the man’s shoulder. Eames dropped his head down and buried his face into the crook of his neck. And they both lay there quietly, not going any further.

 

Arthur wondered why things always had to be so complicated. Why could he not have met Eames before this job or even as a random stranger while he was working? Why did Eames have to be his mark, forcing Arthur to lie to him and abuse the other man’s trust? Even if he could tell him the truth, Eames would never want to be with him after he knew. Arthur could be with Eames for this week, his one guilty secret, but that wasn’t what he wanted. He was starting to think that maybe...he wanted this to continue long after this job was over.

 

He was filled with regret and guilt as he took undeserved comfort curled up in his mark’s embrace. It was only when he felt soft lips shyly brush against his neck that he bolted out of Eames’s arms and off the couch entirely. “I should go,” he muttered, picking up his shoes hastily before rushing towards the door.

 

Eames struggled to get off the couch, a little drunker than Arthur, and followed him. It was not until he had the hotel room door open that Eames caught up with him, grabbing his hand desperately, “Arthur, stay.”

 

“I can’t,” he pulled away from his mark’s hold, stepping out into the hallway. “I want to but I just can’t. This is all so wrong. I’m sorry, just please stay in your room,” he begged before stumbling away to his own room, pulling out his key card with shaking hands.

 

He threw the deadbolt and door lock closed quickly and walked away from the door so that he would not be tempted to listen for pursuing footsteps. He was already almost uncomfortably warm from the wine and Eames’s body so he simply went to the washroom before stripping and crawling into bed. He didn’t like how cold the sheets felt in comparison to the warmth of the duvet out on the balcony.

 

It would not take long for him to fall asleep with the alcohol relaxing his body, making his mind blurry. But as he lay under the covers, waiting for sleep to quiet his rampant thoughts, he stumbled upon a curious question. He knew why he should not like Eames; that was already more than understood. But as he thought about Eames’s answer silently, specifically the words ‘more than I should.’ Arthur couldn’t help but wonder about the reason why Eames was in the same frustrating predicament as he was.


	8. Day Four: Eames

**Day Four**

** _Eames_ **

 

It had taken him hours to fall asleep after his dream, too angry and wound up to relax again. But when he did finally manage to slip away into unconsciousness, it felt as if he had only been asleep for five minutes before he heard a knocking at the door. He remained motionless as the knocking stopped, nearly drifting off again in the silence. Unfortunately, the knocking started up again and he groggily pulled himself out of bed, finding a clean pair of boxers to slip into and grabbing yesterday’s jeans before stumbling towards the door.

 

He opened the door, realizing too late that it was undoubtedly Arthur knocking. He felt his sleepiness drain away to dismay, wishing he had put a shirt on before he had answered. “Morning, lov--” he cut himself off, “Darl--” he winced as another pet name slipped off his tongue so easily, “Arthur,” he finally finished. He knew he could continue using pet names on his mark since Arthur was probably used to it by now, but it felt too personal for him – made it too difficult to remain distant.

 

The conversation with Arthur was surprisingly difficult to maintain, partially due to his tiredness and also because of the tension in the air. He was surprised that it was so difficult to keep the awkwardness out of his stance, and he detected an air of discomfort around his mark as well. Fear gripped him for a moment but he chided himself for jumping to conclusions – there was no way Arthur could know about his dream.

 

Arthur suggested that they head back to the bistro across the street for breakfast so he insisted that Arthur head over there ahead of him, noting offhandedly that he was already dressed. Arthur looked a little confused by this suggestion but Eames promptly closed the door, needing a moment to himself to regain his composure. He had not had the time to put on a mask of indifference before he had opened the door – a mistake he had to rectify.

 

 He jumped into the shower to wash away his exhaustion so that he was functioning normally before finding new jeans, grabbing the first shirt he saw and pulling a hoodie over his head. Then he stood in front of the full length mirror and reminded himself that there was no way Arthur could know about his dream unless he acted differently. He also reminded himself harshly that his entire job was to forge emotions and wear masks to fool his audience. And he was the best. So treating Arthur like a mark and _not_ like the subject of last night’s wet dream should not be an issue.

 

Feeling more confident with his mini pep talk, he grabbed his sunglasses and wallet and headed down to the bistro. He was Eames, the best Forger in the world, and all he had to do was act like himself from twelve hours previous. All things considered, that was a very simple challenge. But as he stepped into the bistro and out of the wind, his eyes immediately found Arthur and he suddenly realized that his mark was dressed differently. He raised an eyebrow casually at the change as he slipped into the booth, trying to keep himself from drooling, “Not in a suit today, darling?” he used the pet name hesitantly, testing the waters.

 

“Yes; so you would have one less thing to bother me about,” Arthur explained, apparently not troubled by the pet name.

 

Eames heard the comment but was too distracted to retort. He couldn’t believe that he had not noticed Arthur’s clothing when they were back in the hotel. He had seen Arthur in a suit, in sleeping clothes, and in jeans before; but this was something entirely different. It looked as if Arthur had actually put in an effort to choose his attire today, while the last time Eames had seen him in jeans was due to exhaustion. And god, did Arthur know how to pick clothes that showed off his form. “I really like this sweater...the material looks very good on you,” he heard himself admit quietly as he lifted a hand.

 

It was almost like he had lost control of himself, his desire to touch Arthur overriding everything else. As his fingers brushed along that soft fabric, feeling tense muscles waiting below, he silently scoffed at his own weakness. If he considered self-restraint and forging a false image to be his job, he might as well quit this very minute. Arthur was going to lead to his ruin, he could tell.

 

But he couldn’t stop. He felt a small wave of excitement bubble up inside him in encouragement when Arthur merely watched his fingers’ progression, not stopping him. Maybe there was actually some small chance of Arthur liking him in return...maybe...One of his nails skimmed along that uncovered wrist when a loud and chipper voice startled him out of his musings, “Hi! What can I get for you this morning?”

 

He pulled his hand back instantly, fumbling for the menu in an attempt to hide his embarrassment. He ordered the first thing his eyes landed on and handed the menu over shakily. Why was he being such an idiot about this? He could never tell Arthur that he was actually Eames’s mark; and even if he could, Arthur would never want to be with him after he knew. He was just making everything worse – for both of them.

 

Arthur gave his order, sounding rather angry. He wondered whether Arthur was angry over Eames touching him or because he had hit his elbow when he had pulled away. He didn’t dare ask, both of them lapsing into an uncomfortable silence. Eames glared at the back of the waitress’s head as she skipped away, a tiny part of him wondering what would have happened if his fingers had traveled just a tiny bit lower.

 

Now that they had been interrupted, his mark was probably pissed off at him for the action. The pet names already annoyed him enough; touching was absolutely not allowed. And if Arthur had not realized that something was off about Eames before, he would almost certainly have an idea now. He felt like banging his head against the table; maybe that would knock some sense into his brain. ‘You’ve ruined everything,’ he told himself dejectedly; ‘You can’t have everything you want so just deal with it and get back to work.’

 

The waitress returned with their orders and Eames stared down at his plate, disappointed to find an omelette sitting there. Great, now on top of having to admit to himself that he and Arthur could not be together, he had to eat one of his least favourite foods in the world. “Do you even like eggs?” Arthur suddenly broke the silence.

 

“No,” he muttered gloomily.

 

He heard a sigh from across the table and he looked up just in time to see Arthur reach across the table to pick up his plate. His mark shoved the plate of blueberry pancakes into his hands before Arthur took a precise bite of eggs. Confused, Eames watched him silently until Arthur shrugged, “I don’t mind omelettes.”

 

Eames felt warmth flow through him at his mark’s gesture. True, Eames had to realize that he could never have Arthur the way he wanted, but that did not mean they couldn’t enjoy the rest of their week sightseeing as companions. That was a lot better than distancing himself entirely and watching his mark from afar for the next few days. And, judging by Arthur’s actions, he was not even mad at Eames for touching him.

 

Suddenly the atmosphere felt a lot more enjoyable, awkwardness banished in favour of a comfortable silence as he drowned his new pancakes in syrup and ate happily. “So what are the plans for today?” he asked curiously as they paid for their breakfast and headed towards Market Street.

 

“Everything at Fisherman’s Wharf takes a relatively short amount of time to do so I have a list for the day,” Arthur explained as they hopped onto a trolley and found two empty seats.

 

“Like what?” he turned to watch the passing streets through the streaked windows as they traveled.

 

“You’ll just have to wait and see,” his mark responded, sounding smug.

 

He turned to Arthur, wondering if it would be going too far for him to challenge Arthur’s authority for a moment. Feeling confident, he decided to push his mark’s buttons a bit, “Alright love, enjoy your day of leading while it lasts.”

 

“Day?” Arthur asked him, suddenly looking a little uncertain.

 

“Oh, I’ve already planned the rest of our week. I hope that doesn’t _bother_ you,” he leaned closer, smiling challengingly. He noticed a small blush working its way into his mark’s pale cheeks, reminding him of that first blush projection-Arthur had given him in the dream. “Come on, darling. When have I ever led you astray?”

 

Arthur shifted away from him uncomfortably and he pulled away slightly, wondering if he had gone too far. “This is our stop,” Arthur suddenly proclaimed, nearly falling over as he stood up before the trolley had fully stopped.

 

Eames followed him hurriedly, barely dodging the doors before they closed. He came to stand beside the other man on the sidewalk. They watched each other for a moment, like they had both changed to a different language accidentally. He was about to apologize for pushing Arthur too far when he was cut off by an odd type of barking sound. He raised an eyebrow and looked around, trying to locate the sound, “What the hell was that?”

 

“The first sight on our list,” Arthur seemed to recover from whatever had caused him to bolt, smirking at him victoriously.

 

“Lead on,” he handed over full control with a flourish, pulling on his sunglasses as Arthur led the way down the streets towards the waterfront. Stealing control from someone as precise and restrained as Arthur could be fun at times, but it was also enjoyable to see his mark in his element. A confident and self-assured Arthur was something he enjoyed seeing quite a bit. If that meant allowing the other man to take the reins, well so be it. They came up to a railing that overlooked the pier and he gaped slightly, “Sea lions!”

 

He rushed closer to see the full group of them, the majority of the long piers covered in the big, blubbery creatures. He had never expected to see such a large collection of them so close to a tourist area, though they all seemed quite content to lie there and soak up the sun. He nodded automatically when he heard Arthur speaking some fact; too busy watching the sea lions to catalogue the information away.

 

As they watched, he saw one sea lion leave the group and come towards them. The sea lion stared up at them and began barking animatedly, “Arthur, look! He likes me!” he grinned as he leaned further over the railing, barking in return. He felt rather smug when the sea lion began barking back in response, bobbing up and down excitedly. They didn’t call him a forger for nothing. He noticed Arthur beside him, sleeve over his mouth and shoulders shaking with silent laughter, “Are you laughing at me?”

 

“Absolutely,” Arthur admitted readily, laughing out loud now.

 

Eames’s grin widened, feeling elated over the fact that he had caused his mark to laugh outright, locking away the expression and sound in his memory. He never wanted to forget what Arthur’s genuine laugh was like, and not just for his job. “Well how about you give it a shot then, darling,” he waved towards the pier.

 

Arthur finally calmed himself down enough to stop laughing, though he was still smiling in amusement, “No, I think I’ll leave the imitations to you.”

 

Eames felt his smile fall from his face quickly and he swallowed the lump in his throat. He turned away from Arthur to look out at the sea lions, thankful that he had his sunglasses on to hide his eyes. He knew Arthur had not meant it in terms of his job because he didn’t actually know what Eames did, but that almost made it worse. His mark had practically vocalized his betrayal unknowingly, sparking a guilt in his stomach that made him feel sick. “What’s next on the list?” he asked hurriedly, looking for some sort of distraction.

 

“The Aquarium,” his mark stated quickly, sounding confused; not that Eames could blame him. As Arthur began leading him towards the Aquarium he made sure that there was always a small gap between them as they walked, wanting to make sure that there would be no accidental touches.

 

The brightly coloured fish, sharks and stingrays passed by in a blur as they wandered through the aquarium; he found it impossible to focus on what was going on around him, too caught up in his own internal struggle. He had had many marks before Arthur – some he liked, some he hated, many he was indifferent towards. But never before in his life had he felt this degree of guilt over using his ability. Yes, sometimes he had felt a little regret, feeling like he had invaded someone’s privacy. But this was so much worse. He was not just betraying Arthur’s privacy – he was betraying the man’s trust, which he doubted was handed out easily.

 

He followed his mark out of the aquarium when Arthur suggested they go somewhere else. As he slid his glasses on he wondered what excuse he would use if he turned around and threw up in the flower bed beside him. Food poisoning? The painful twisting in his stomach and the hard lump lodged in his throat certainly made him feel like he was sick. “Where to?” he forced out, willing the nausea down.

 

“How about you choose?” Arthur offered, but the uncertainty he heard in his mark’s voice just made him feel worse. It wasn’t _Arthur_’s fault he was riddled with guilt.

 

“You decide, Arthur,” he offered. The least he could do to make his mark happy would be to give him full control.

 

“Eames,” Arthur practically barked his name, causing him to jump and turn to look at him in shock. He had not thought Arthur was capable of that sort of tone, “Just pick one.”

 

He swallowed, the other man’s voice sounding dangerous. “Ripley’s, I suppose.”

 

He could tell that Arthur was angry when he saw the man’s jaw clenched tightly. He realized that he was completely ruining their day – _Arthur_’s day – and that he needed to stop being selfish. It wasn’t fair of him to ruin the other man’s enjoyment of the sights just because he suddenly got kicked in the conscience. But now he didn’t know how to fix it; they had fallen into an unhealthy habit of standing apart from one another, silence hanging between them.

 

As they moved from one exhibit to another he thought of different things to say – apologies, explanations, random facts, _anything_ to get a conversation going; but everything came up short in his mind and he remained quiet. Surprisingly, it was Arthur who finally worked up the courage to break the silence first, “I don’t get it.”

 

“That’s because you’re looking at it wrong,” he spoke hurriedly, as if this was his one window of opportunity to step back into the dynamic they had shared before this started. He was relieved that the other man seemed to be making just as much of an effort to return to that comfortable familiarity they had somehow stumbled upon while sightseeing. He crossed the short distance to stand beside Arthur. “You need to look at it like...” he placed his palm on the side of Arthur’s head, fingers skimming into black hair as he gently tilted the man’s head over, “like that.”

 

He felt invigorated as Arthur allowed the touch, his mood immediately lifting with the physical contact. His mark gave a quiet ‘oh’ when he saw the painting from the new perspective and he pulled his hand away somewhat reluctantly. Carding his fingers through that soft hair would probably not be taken well, no matter how much they had both wanted to return to this sense of companionship.

 

He couldn’t stop smiling though, ready to make sure that the rest of this day made up for his moodiness earlier. “I bet I can make it through the mirror maze before you.”

 

“I doubt that,” the other man met his challenge readily and he raced off into the entrance of the maze. Arthur had fallen behind to read the information board – who needed that? – so he wanted to take advantage of his head start. He had to slow down once he was actually inside the maze to make sure that he did not slam into a mirror by mistake.

 

At first he seemed to be doing an excellent job of navigating the maze, barely running into any mirrors. But then he felt his sense of direction dissolve as he continued on, getting turned around. He wondered suspiciously if he had passed a particular stain in the carpet before and set a penny down to be sure. A few minutes later, even though he thought he had made progress, he was glaring down at that penny again. He left it in determination, positive that he took a different route. But once again he stumbled upon his penny. By this point he didn’t even know which direction the entrance was. “Arthur? Help! I’m lost!”

 

When there was no immediate response he began to panic. Had Arthur already made it through to the exit? Was he standing by the entrance, laughing at him? How would he get out now? Would the museum staff come for him? Did they even know he was here— “Keep talking, you idiot. I can’t find you otherwise,” Arthur’s exasperated voice bounced off the mirrors towards him. He had never been so happy to be called an idiot before that moment.

 

“Oh that’s very nice of you to say, calling me an idiot just because my sense of spatial mapping isn’t quite up to par...” he began rambling defensively, giving Arthur something to find him with. But as time went on and Arthur still hadn’t found him, he began to complain. “And you call me dumb? Darling this is taking forever. Seriously, you might as well call a priest and set up my funeral in here because at the rate you’re moving I’m not going to make it out to see the sun—Oh thank god!” he broke off his rant when Arthur turned a corner, coming to stand beside him. “You see that penny, darling?”

 

The other man looked down at the floor, giving an exaggerated eye roll, “Yes.”

 

“I’ve passed that penny _three_ times!” he yelled, “I don’t even know where the bloody entrance is anymore.”

 

“Yes, well that’s what happens when you run into a maze without thinking. Or without reading the information board,” Arthur was giving him a smug, knowing look.

 

He bowed mockingly, enjoying this playful banter even if his intelligence was the butt of the joke. “Then get us out of here, all-knowing one.”

 

“Easily,” Arthur turned around, heading back the way he had come from. Taking advantage of the opportunity while he had the chance, Eames grabbed onto the other man’s sweater. He felt his mark shiver when his fingers brushed his spine through the fabric, and he was pleased that Arthur did not object beyond calling him a child.

 

He chatted amiably until Arthur shushed him, thoroughly enjoying this light-hearted atmosphere they had developed. As they exited the maze and stepped out of the museum he finally let go of the other man’s sweater, “Well done, love! Where would I be without you?” He ducked his head and batted his eyelashes mischievously, as much a professional as any movie-damsel-in-distress.

 

“Circling a penny in a maze of one hundred mirrors until the cleaning staff finally came to save you,” Arthur forced a monotone, though Eames caught the hint of laughter fighting for escape. He vowed to get the man to laugh again if it was the last thing he did, suggesting the Wax museum as a good venue; making sure to insult Arthur’s tastes good-naturedly in the same sentence, of course.

 

As they entered the wax museum he began mimicking poses of the figures they came across, quoting famous lines as best he could whenever he knew of one. It was when he was posing with wax-Elvis and quoting his famous line in that Mississippi drawl that he pulled a very audible, very happy laugh from Arthur. And it was in that moment that he realized that his ability to forge and mimic was not entirely bad – not if he could provide Arthur with this much enjoyment out of something so simple.

 

Feeling drunk on their shared good mood and Arthur’s laughter, he felt a spark of bravery as they came upon a recreation of the Titanic’s bow. “Come on, love. I’ve always wanted to try this,” he jumped up onto the tiny stage, motioning his mark closer.

 

Arthur seemed confused at first and then planted his feet solidly, “I’d rather not.”

 

“Oh, stop being so bloody self-conscious,” he laughed as he hopped off the stage to catch Arthur’s wrist carefully, pulling him back towards the recreation. “It’s not like there’s anyone else in here anyway.”

 

“That’s not the point,” he heard Arthur mutter, fighting him half-heartedly as they stepped onto the mini-stage. Eames had no doubt that this bow had been created beside the wax figures of the actors so that visitors could utilize it exactly as he planned; no point wasting it.

 

“Close your eyes,” he laughed once he had Arthur on the stage.

 

“You have got to be joking,” he felt his mark pull away more determinedly, but he just held him in place.

 

“Just do it,” he smiled, trying to look reassuring as Arthur slowly closed his eyes. He felt a bundle of excited nerves in his chest as Arthur allowed himself to be led closer to the end of the stage until he was holding onto the railing. “Okay, now step onto the railing.”

 

“No.”

 

He sighed, “We’ll just work around your shyness,” he smiled in determination at the back of Arthur’s head, “And keep your eyes closed; don’t peek.”

 

“I’m not,” Arthur defended, probably growing more agitated as his embarrassment grew.

 

Eames held his breath as he hesitantly placed a hand on each of Arthur’s narrow, jean-clad hips. It was innocent, not causing any flashbacks to his dream from the night before. But the feel of Arthur in his arms – Arthur _allowing_ it as Eames slowly pushed him forward – he was starting to believe that there was a heaven. “We’re not actually going to fall into an ocean if you topple off the railing, you know,” he chuckled.

 

Arthur sighed and pulled himself onto the first rung of the railing, “Better?”

 

Feeling triumphant, Eames stepped up carefully behind him. He made sure he found stable footing, steadying his own balance. “Much. Now you just have to put your arms out,” he held in his snigger, not wanting to ruin his progress now. Arthur didn’t budge, “Don’t you trust me, love?”

 

He had said it as a joke, trying to taunt Arthur into putting his arms out, so Arthur’s honest “I suppose” in response caused him to smile. He felt his eyes soften as he gazed at the back of Arthur’s head. He fought the strong urge to wrap the other man up into his arms, forgetting about the pose, but instead slipped his fingers around Arthur’s wrists and spread their arms. He focused on keeping balance for both of them as they fell into that famous pose. “Oh look, Eames...” Arthur’s sarcastic voice rang out in the empty room, “I’m flying.”

 

He laughed, quite sure that was the most unexcited voice he had ever heard in his life; Arthur was pretty good at using different tones as well. “Way to ruin a moment, darling,” he chuckled, twining his fingers with Arthur’s affectionately and pulling their arms inward until he was hugging his mark’s waist.

 

Eames memorized the feeling of Arthur pressed up against him, even if it was just for balance. He brushed his fingers along the fabric of Arthur’s sweater, ecstatic that the other man didn’t pull his hands away. Arthur tilted his head to look over at him, meeting his gaze shyly. Feeling optimistic, he allowed himself to follow his instincts as he leaned closer. He watched Arthur cautiously for signs of objection but his mark just closed his eyes. With a smile, Eames allowed his eyes to close in anticipation as he felt Arthur’s breath on his face. This was actually happening – it wasn’t a dream.

 

“Mommy, look! It’s just like the movie!” a shrill little voice caused him to blink his eyes open in shock, feeling like he had gotten caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He felt Arthur jerk away from him, both of them falling away from the railing. He managed to catch the railing and Arthur in time to keep them from hitting the floor, trying to recover as the child’s mother led her to a different room.

 

He allowed Arthur to rush off the stage, face red with humiliation. Eames couldn’t bring himself to be embarrassed; he felt like he was on cloud nine when he thought about how close he had just come to kissing Arthur in reality. Sure, he should be feeling guilty right now, and he knew that. But Arthur had almost kissed him _back_; how could he _not_ be overjoyed right now? He laughed until tears were streaming from his eyes when suddenly he realized that his mark was still not taking it well. He gave him a gentle nudge, “You alright? It was just a bit of fun.”

 

As soon the words were out of his mouth he wished he could take them back. He didn’t know why, but as soon as he spoke Arthur’s face looked like his soul had shattered to pieces. He could tell that the other man was trying to appear nonchalant, but he was failing miserably. Eames worried briefly if Arthur might cry despite how un-Arthur-like that would be, based on his expression – it was heartbreaking. His mark pulled away from him, “Yes, I’m fine.”

 

“You don’t seem fine,” he pressed, blocking Arthur’s path in concern.

 

“Well I am,” Arthur pushed him out of the way as he headed directly for the exit.

 

He raced behind the other man as they left the museum at a quick pace. “Look I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you that much – I didn’t know that girl was going to walk in.” He didn’t know what else to say to alleviate the mortification his mark seemed to be experiencing.

 

“It’s fine; it was just a little fun after all, right?” Arthur asked him sharply. Eames froze for a moment, wondering if now was the opportunity to admit that, no – it had not been ‘just a little fun’. Not for him at least. It had been so much more. “_Right_?” Arthur asked him again harshly, and he realized that now was not the moment to say anything.

 

“...Right,” he met his mark’s gaze briefly before looking away, feeling disappointed that he could not explain how much their shared moment had meant for him – what it had done to his heart.

 

Arthur nodded and began stalking down the pavement again, “Besides, you’re a terrible actor. No wonder you aren’t listed for any works.”

 

That piqued his interest, “Searching for me online, are you, pet?” He watched as Arthur’s shoulders tensed, pausing mid-step, and he realized that his mark had made a mistake in his moment of weakness. “It’s alright,” he immediately reassured him, “I don’t mind.” The other man immediately began walking again, muttering something about dinner and Eames had no choice but to follow.

 

He considered this new revelation as they walked, realizing that Arthur had been searching online for him as well as asking him questions. This thought bothered him, but not because of the fact that his mark was learning more about him. Well okay, maybe that was a bit of an uncomfortable thought as well since he was not used to sharing personal information with people. But no, Eames was bothered because if Arthur was going to dig up his past – his likes and dislikes – he wanted to tell the man himself. The thought of telling Arthur everything about himself was becoming unusually appealing, even if it was also terrifying with how much trust it involved. But he wanted to share his life with Arthur; he wanted it to be a personal exchange of information.

 

Eames wanted Arthur to ask him these questions so that he could answer for himself, rather than whatever scattered pieces of information a computer might hold. But his mark seemed unwilling to ask the questions openly; either too shy or too concerned about what Eames might think. A plan began to form in his mind of how to spark this exchange of personal details, but he was distracted by an artist on the street. “Arthur?” he called softly, stopping to watch the artist.

 

“What?” the other man asked, sounding worn out.

 

“Come see,” he waved him over, returning his attention to the airbrush painter. He made room for Arthur in the crowd as his mark came over, “Aren’t they beautiful?”

 

He skimmed his eyes over the finished paintings, taking in the artistry and detail put into each unique painting. Then he watched the artist as he worked on another canvas, this one of a cluster of shimmering stars. “Which one is your favourite?” Arthur asked him abruptly.

 

Eames thought about it seriously for a moment, taking a closer look at each painting until he came across one of the sun and moon. He loved how the colours complimented one another, adding to the beauty of two opposites creating one balanced whole. The coy smile painted onto each mouth of the sun and the moon also caught his attention – they reminded him of himself and Arthur, and that thought made him smile, “The sun and the moon. Wait—what are you doing?”

 

Arthur paid him no mind as he stepped further into the crowd and picked up the chosen painting. Eames was astonished to see Arthur pulling out his wallet and paying for the painting, passing it into his hands carefully. “Arthur...darling...” he breathed, not knowing what to say. The warmth that was blooming in his chest was overwhelming in the best possible way.

 

“Don’t argue,” his companion cut him off, rubbing his neck shyly, “Just think of it as a memento for our week, alright?”

 

He almost laughed at Arthur’s underlying concern that Eames would forget about him after this week was over – as if that would ever be possible. But instead he just pulled Arthur into his arms in gratitude over the thoughtful gesture, “Thank you, love.”

 

“You’re welcome,” his mark pulled away slowly, apparently somewhat over his embarrassment from the wax museum. “Now let’s get some food. I’m starving.”

 

Eames agreed and followed Arthur into a famous seafood restaurant on pier 47. He was thankful that they managed to get one of the last free tables, watching the line build up at the door as they placed their orders. The day had certainly been an emotional rollercoaster with ups, downs, and unexpected turns, but things seemed to be settling down now for a pleasant ending.

 

It was definitely a moment to remember for him when Arthur relented to his request to try some of his dinner, both of them swapping a small portion onto each others’ plates. They were both so at ease in that moment, as if they had been together for years and this was a common occurrence; the familiarity of it made him smile. They finished off their dinner over light conversation and then gave up their table for another waiting party, heading out into the chilly evening air. But almost immediately Eames found himself diverted from the correct path when he saw a glowing carousel by the water. “Arthur, look!”

 

Arthur came to stand beside him, the stream of tourists parting around them like a river. “It’s a carousel.”

 

“It’s a _carousel_,” he restated the words, demonstrating how much enthusiasm Arthur _should_ have in his words.

 

“...And?”

 

He sighed and caught Arthur’s wrist in his hand, dragging him towards the spinning lights and cheerful music, “The world is wasted on you, darling,” he muttered mournfully.

 

“You really are five, aren’t you?” Arthur allowed himself to be pulled along, more amused than anything else. “We probably won’t even fit on anything,” the other man reminded him as Eames paid for their rides.

 

“If you want something badly enough and you fight for it, anything is possible,” he proclaimed seriously before hopping up onto a plastic horse covered in sparkles. He knew the mini-speech was too serious for a simple carousel ride, but he hoped that Arthur might catch his underlying message – the knowledge of what he wanted was starting to solidify in his head...and he wasn’t planning on giving up.

 

The ride did not last long as they began to spin around, music picking up and lights flashing, but he didn’t mind. Hearing Arthur laugh, even if it was at his own expense, made it worth it. Eames allowed his grin to grow every time he heard his mark chuckle, mindless of the parents giving them odd looks. They were enjoying the moment, just the two of them here on this carousel.

 

He was a little dizzy when they got off the ride, but Arthur led him to the trolley without fail. Keeping everyone away from his painting was a bit of a challenge since all of the tourists were leaving Fisherman’s Wharf at the same time. But they managed to make it back to their hotel safely, painting intact. They rode the elevator quietly and Eames built up his courage to spill his secrets to Arthur, “I have a challenge for you.”

 

“Oh?” Arthur grunted to show he was listening, busy peeling off his sweater. He got momentarily sidetracked when a sliver of pale skin appeared as the other man’s shirt rode up. “What would that be?”

 

“It’s a secret,” he regained focus as he passed room 1731 for his own. “Just get changed into something comfortable, keep the sweater, and come over to my room.” He paused for a minute to find his key card, slipping it into his door, “And bring your wine.” Once he was inside he dumped his wallet and sunglasses before carefully pulling off the painting’s wrappings. He propped it up on the dresser so that he would be able to see it from anywhere in the room, sparing a small moment to himself to smile at the painting.

 

Moment over, he carried all but two pillows from his bed out onto the wicker couch on the balcony. He distributed them evenly before returning to his room, pulling his sweater and shirt off to put on something fresh. He considered stepping into the shower quickly but a knock at the door made up his mind for him and he grabbed the first clean shirt he found. “That was faster than I was expecting,” he admitted with a laugh, struggling to thread his arm into his shirt and pull it down. “I figured you’d take ‘comfortable’ as an order to put on a suit.” He stepped back into his room to find a new hoodie, noticing Arthur’s shirt, “Were you wearing that shirt all day?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“You actually _own_ t-shirts?” he mocked, tugging his sweater on. Not that he minded of course; seeing Arthur in a t-shirt automatically made the normally uptight man look relaxed and at ease...human.

 

“Yes,” Arthur followed his silent suggestion and pulled his own sweater on, swapping his wine bottle back and forth between his hands carefully. “So what is this challenge?”

 

“Come,” he smiled excitedly, grabbing his own wine bottle from the mini-fridge before heading out onto the balcony. He set his wine bottle down on the table, everything almost set. “You sit down; there’s one more thing we need,” he offered the couch before dashing back into the room. Eames tugged the heavy duvet off his bed and carried the armful back out onto the balcony, throwing it over the couch so that it almost completely covered his mark. He crawled under the blanket once it had settled, tucking it around himself to keep the wind away. He smiled softly as he reached for his bottle, feeling Arthur’s feet brush against his own under the duvet and not pull away. “So the game is Truth, Dare, or Drink.”

 

“Or drink?” the other man repeated, working out his bottle’s cork before passing the corkscrew over for him to use. He explained the basic rules as he uncorked his own bottle, setting the corkscrew aside. “And where did this come from exactly?”

 

“Well it has been pretty obvious that you wanted to ask me questions but are too shy to ask properly or something like that. So...” he grinned, taking a quick swig of his wine, “I thought I’d help you out.” He decided not to get too detailed about wanting this to be an intimate exchange to make it more personal, not wanting to make his mark uncomfortable. “I’m taking that as a forced Truth, so Truth or Dare?”

 

“Dare,” Arthur answered defiantly, eyes narrowed in the dim lighting.

  
“Take off your sweater,” he smirked. Arthur refused, as he had expected him to and using the excuse that he would get cold. Not that he minded though; he just wanted to get Arthur to drink so he would loosen up. “I’ll take a Truth.”

 

He was not surprised by his mark’s first question, “Well you already know I tried searching you as an actor online and couldn’t find anything. So what do you do as a job?” He took a long swallow, feeling a little guilty but knowing he could not reveal the truth to this man no matter how much he wanted to.

 

It was not hard for him to think of his question for Arthur’s Truth, “Why are you so interested in asking me questions?” He was a little disappointed but unsurprised when Arthur took a long drink. They both had secrets, and if he wasn’t going to divulge everything to Arthur then it was only fair to expect the same in return. “Dare,” he chose before his mark could ask.

 

He hoped that Arthur might choose something inappropriate or daring, but instead he got a wine bottle shoved into his hands, “Drink some of my wine.”

 

“Only if you drink some of mine as well,” he rolled his eyes in amusement as he passed over his bottle. They both took a large mouthful and he laughed as they swapped bottles again, “You are so G-rated, darling.”

 

Once he got Arthur to admit that he had enjoyed the wine infused with strawberries the game really began to pick up. But before things became too serious, there was one question he wanted to ask – knowing he would never get an answer without the help of alcohol and the challenge of a game. “Do you secretly enjoy my pet names and terms of endearment?”

 

He watched as the bottle approached the other man’s lips, that action speaking the truth just as clearly as the actual word. But he still felt an endearing sort of victory when Arthur answered truthfully, “Yes.”

 

Arthur asked him a lot of questions he was prepared for: questions about his school life and his family in particular, which was understandable based on the small snippet he had shared on the Golden Gate Bridge. He was also asked about simpler things, such as likes and dislikes, preferences, allergies and dreams. He had been expecting them all but he was genuinely shocked with how enjoyable it was to share this information with Arthur. It put him at ease, like he finally had someone else to share the weight of the burdens in his life.

 

Something that had stunned him though was how keen Arthur was on the _how’_s, the _why’_s. His mark seemed utterly fascinated with the context of his life. It was a little unsettling at first, especially considering the fact that he was normally a very private person – sharing everything about himself, including his reasoning, did not come naturally to him. But with Arthur he felt safe opening up and hoped that he was not making a serious judgement error.

 

In return, he was offered little tidbits and secrets from Arthur’s mind – who seemed to be just as naturally private as he was. He took this as a compliment, pleased that Arthur seemed willing to share this with him and trusted him enough to keep it confidential. He learned about Arthur’s parents, mother and father not exactly well off but happy and healthy. He was jealous of this and told Arthur so – reminded him that personal happiness was much more important than riches. His mark had nodded and taken a drink, agreeing with him but also admitting that he wanted to become rich so that he could help his parents live a relaxed and easy life.

 

Eames was offered more stories of family, and of school. Arthur had been, as he had suspected, brilliant in school – acing everything he put his mind to. That determination and dedication seemed to seep into every aspect of Arthur’s life: it was a way of living for his mark. The other man went through a list of his favourite foods; most of them with names Eames could barely pronounce. But then, slipped in between two fancy French dishes, he caught something he knew Arthur hoped he missed, “What was that, pet? Say again?”

 

Arthur glared at him and took a sip, “Chocolate-covered raspberries.” Eames grinned.

 

He heard about Arthur’s very awkward first kiss – though who’s wasn’t, honestly? And as Arthur began telling him about all the places in the world that he wanted to travel to and experience, Eames could not stop his imagination from kicking in. They were both stretched out on the couch now, legs entwined for warmth and leisure, and he imagined traveling all around the world with Arthur like this. Sitting on a couch together and sharing little pieces of themselves while they watched a new city skyline; experiencing the world together. That was a future he would be content with.

 

He enjoyed watching Arthur as he told his stories and shared moments of his past with Eames. The other man seemed to come alive, suddenly so expressive in his eyes and mouth and posture. The alcohol certainly helped with that, but he liked to think that it was also because Arthur was opening up to him – showing his vulnerable side, if only for short moments.

 

They were both moving from tipsy towards the edge of drunk now, most of his bottle finished while Arthur still had some left. And as he sat there, curled up under the warm duvet with his mark’s foot brushing his calf, he decided to make things a little more dangerous. “Do you find me attractive?”

 

“Yes,” Arthur admitted shyly, speaking into his bottle as he took a drink and looking absolutely adorable. “Same question.”

 

He laughed immediately, surprised that the other man could not tell. But he didn’t mind admitting it out loud, knowing it would probably cause a new blush to arise on those soft cheeks, “I haven’t been able to take my eyes off you since I saw you, darling.” They watched each other in silence for a moment, seeming to realize that they were on the boundary of something – and dangerously close to falling over the edge. “Truth or Dare?”

 

“Dare,” the other man was, indeed, blushing in the small glow of light seeping out from his hotel room.

 

“Come here,” he requested, motioning Arthur over. Looking nervous, his mark slid across the couch towards him. When the other man was in his reach, Eames wrapped his free arm around Arthur and pulled him against his chest, making sure he had room to sit on the soft cushions. He purposefully twined their legs together again and wrapped the hand not occupied with his bottle around Arthur’s middle, holding him close. “Stay there for the rest of the game,” he dared lightly.

 

Arthur snuggled closer to him, soaking up his heat and sharing his own. His mark glanced up at him, looking like he was trying to solve a puzzle. Eames felt Arthur’s free hand slowly come to rest on top of his own under the duvet, “Truth or dare?”

 

“Truth,” he answered easily, knowing that Arthur had a serious question weighing on his mind.

 

“Why were you acting so oddly today? You seemed awkward, tense and uncomfortable.” He raised his bottle, ready to polish off his wine to drown his nerves and avoid the treacherous question, but he let it drop by his side again.

 

He wondered if there was even any point in telling Arthur the truth, knowing that things would never work out the way he wanted it to. But he had such a strong urge to tell the other man how he felt, wanting to share this secret. And if he could never tell Arthur what he truly did for work – that he was actually here to steal his mark’s persona – maybe the man deserved this truth, at least. Or maybe it would disgust Arthur, make the man hate him, and his mark would storm away. At least then he would not have to find the nonexistent willpower to distance himself from this man on his own. “I feel more for you than I should. Same question.”

 

“...Same answer,” came the soft reply, a few minutes later.

 

Eames sighed, partially in relief, partially in gratitude, and partially in despair. How was he ever going to tear himself away from this man now? He didn’t have that amount of self-restraint. He pulled Arthur’s wine bottle from his grasp, setting both bottles on the table. Then he encircled Arthur in his arms and pulled him against his chest, just wanting to hold the other man. Eames felt his mark lean back and rest his head on his shoulder so Eames buried his face against Arthur’s neck, where skin and sweater met.

 

This was all becoming so difficult, so complicated. He had had relationships in the past, but no one had ever even made him _consider_ dropping everything else just to be with them. But with Arthur it was an honest consideration. He wanted to get this job as a Forger on a permanent dream working team, working with the best in the business, becoming rich, gaining freedom, being able to travel and continue to improve his skills. But he didn’t want that without Arthur. But what could he ever say now? Why did Arthur have to be his mark, of all the people in the world?

 

Was he honestly willing to give up his dream job to be with Arthur? Even when he knew there was a good chance the man would reject him as soon as Eames told him the truth? Was he willing to make that sacrifice for one chance, handing Arthur his heart and his future? His mark could just as easily destroy him as make every one of his dreams come true.

 

Conflicted, he took comfort in holding Arthur in his arms. The alcohol was not helping his self-control though, which was already at a minimum with his mark’s close proximity. He dropped a gentle, chaste kiss on Arthur’s neck; he didn’t want it to go further – he just wanted one taste of that skin in reality. But Arthur immediately pulled away, grabbing his shoes and heading for the door, “I should go.”

 

He pushed himself off the couch shakily, more buzzed than he had realized while remaining motionless. He finally managed to catch up to his mark at the hotel door, grabbing Arthur’s hand to keep him from slipping through the door, pleading, “Arthur, stay.”

 

“I can’t,” Arthur pulled away from him, stepping through the door. “I want to but I just can’t. This is all so wrong,” his mark began walking away slowly, unsteady on his feet, “I’m sorry. Just please stay in your room.” And then he was gone.

 

Eames stood there for a moment, listening for Arthur’s door to open and close to make sure he was in safely, and then closed his own door. There was no point in following after the other man right now, upsetting him more. He honoured Arthur’s wish and stepped back into his own room dejectedly. He recovered the pillows and the duvet from the balcony, throwing them haphazardly on the bed. Then he angrily pushed the corks partway into the wine bottles and shoved them back into the mini-fridge.

 

He crawled under the sheets, lacking the motivation to do anything else. He kept shifting positions, trying to avoid the residue warmth that the duvet had soaked up. Eventually he kicked it off altogether, curling up under the thinner – and chilled – sheets below. It was in these moments of silence, lying in the dark and waiting for sleep to come, that he realized something important. He had missed something in Arthur’s answer, too preoccupied with the comprehension that Arthur liked him in return.

 

‘I feel more for you _than I should_.’

 

What, exactly, was making Arthur’s life just as complicated and miserable as his own?


	9. Day Five: Arthur

**Day Five**

** _Arthur_ **

 

Despite the rather conflicting end to the evening, Arthur had slept wonderfully. He was sure he had the alcohol to thank for that, sleeping so restfully that he did not even dream. He pulled himself out of bed, sunlight spilling through his windows since he had forgotten to close his curtains the night before. He saw that it was nine in the morning, a respectable time to wake up, and showered quickly.

 

He chose to return to wearing a suit, pulling the custom fabric off the hanger carefully. He felt a little uncertain about how this day would progress after last night’s revelations, so he wanted at least one thing in his day to be stable and reliable. As he tucked in his pressed shirt and pulled his belt tight, he wondered if Eames was up yet or still asleep. Had the man slept well? Was he avoiding him? He scoffed at his insecurity irritably, threading his tie around his neck. There was no point in scrutinizing the ‘what if’s.

 

Once his suit was in place, giving him a sense of familiar security, he grabbed his wallet and sunglasses and headed out of the room; he couldn’t hide away in his room forever. When he entered the hallway he found it empty and he leaned against the interior balcony for a moment, looking down at the lobby far below. What had happened the night before deserved some sort of contemplation, even if he had no clue what he was going to do about it.

 

Fact one: Eames liked him. He didn’t know how much, but he at least knew his mark had meant as more than friends; unless he went around cuddling and kissing all of his friends.

 

Fact two: There was something in his mark’s life that turned this attraction into something Eames should not be feeling – let alone indulging in.

 

Fact three: Arthur could not ask him what this ‘something’ was that was putting a boundary on what Eames could feel for him. Not _unless_ he was willing to answer the exact same question.

 

So what was there to do? He couldn’t tell Eames the truth about his job and he would not receive the truth in return without that sacrifice. He was bound just as tightly as Eames seemed to be in this complicated web. This was his dream job he was considering, his one chance to become part of a professional, skilled team in illegal dream work. He would have the money to travel the world and help out his parents, as well as the freedom to create and experience anything and everything he could imagine. He couldn’t give that up, no matter how much he wanted Eames in his future.

 

“Oh, morning, love,” the sound of a surprised British accent and a door falling closed behind him caught his attention.

 

He turned to find Eames stepping out of his hotel room, dressed and ready for a new day. Arthur realized that he must have been thinking for a longer period of time than he had meant to. “Morning,” he smiled, his mark’s grin contagious.

 

Eames came up to stand beside him at the railing, looking down. “So I have a different restaurant picked out for our breakfast this morning. Are you ready to go?”

 

“Absolutely,” he nodded, walking side by side with his mark as they headed towards the elevators. He was quick to notice that while the other man did not touch him, Eames made sure to remain close by his side as they stepped out into the warm sunshine. “So what restaurant is this?” he asked as they began walking towards the shoreline.

 

“A famous bakery I heard about,” Eames shrugged offhandedly, though the mischievous grin gave him away. But Arthur remained silent, curious about what this man was planning. It did not take long before they could see the San Francisco Bay and Eames led him towards a small building that had an unadulterated view of the water, escaping the downtown skyscrapers. When they walked in he was immediately overwhelmed by the smell of freshly baked bread and the sweetness of jams and syrup. “Yes, I made a reservation this morning?” Eames stepped forward when a waitress welcomed them.

 

“Right this way, please,” the waitress, Tiffany if the nametag spoke true, smiled at them and began walking into the bakery/restaurant mix. He felt a flutter begin in his stomach when Eames placed a soft hand on his lower back, leading him after the waitress. He allowed the contact, greedily enjoying the innocent and warm touch. “This will be your table. Here is your menu and I’ll be right back with the starter you pre-ordered.”

 

“Thank you,” Eames smiled and picked up his menu, purposefully avoiding Arthur’s questioning gaze. “You’ll see, pet, be patient.”

 

He sat back in his chair sceptically, and slowly turned his attention to his menu. It was a few minutes later when Tiffany returned, setting a plate down in the middle of the table, and his eyes widened in disbelief. The waitress took their orders and disappeared before Eames pushed the plate towards him, “They’re all yours, darling; though I want one for curiosity sake.”

 

Eames picked one chocolate-covered raspberry off the plate between two fingers, melted chocolate sticking to the plate and his fingers as he slipped it past those full lips. He blinked down and picked up one himself, feeling the warm chocolate slide down his finger as he ate the raspberry. He closed his eyes as the taste of raspberry and chocolate mixed on his tongue before he swallowed. He shouldn’t have put it past Eames to use everything he had learned the night before. When he opened his eyes again he realized that Eames was watching him attentively. “They’re wonderful.”

 

His mark’s face broke out into a dazzling grin, “I’m glad.” Eames only managed to snatch one more raspberry before he polished them off, not that the other man seemed to mind. Arthur had considered bringing up the night before since he knew that they should talk about it at some point. But he decided that now was not the time to do it; they might as well enjoy their day of sightseeing. Why bring up something that would lead to heartbreak when there was nothing they could do to fix the situation? They would just make the best of what time they had left together. “So.”

 

“So?” he repeated, taking another bite of French toast.

 

“So I was thinking we could start off in Chinatown. It’s apparently the largest one in the world outside of Asia. Do a bit of shopping, grab some lunch, and then head over to Coit Tower and Lombard Street to see the proclaimed ‘Crookedest street in the world’. Find some dinner and then maybe we’d go out dancing.” Eames raced through the last sentence so quickly that he blinked, trying to catch what the man had said.

 

When he did, he set his glass of water down on the table slowly, “I don’t dance.”

 

“Sure you do! Everyone dances, sweetheart,” his mark busied himself with his pancakes, avoiding his pointed glare.

 

“Well _I_ do not,” he restated. “Don’t give me that look,” he glowered over the rim of his glass when he saw the other man’s puppy dog look again.

 

“But _Arthur_...” Eames whined.

 

“No.”

 

Eames sat back in his chair with a huff, “We’ll just see.”

 

Despite those words of warning, the other man quickly allowed the subject to drop, the mood turning pleasant once more. “I’m not much of a shopper,” he admitted as they paid for their meal and left to catch a cable car for the few blocks to Chinatown.

 

“Neither am I, but I figure it can’t hurt to look, right?” the other man shrugged, pulling himself up onto the step behind him on the cable car. As the cable car bell chimed and they began up the first hill, he felt hesitant fingers touch his waist. He turned back to regard Eames for a moment, noting the hesitant smile before facing forward again with a small smile of his own. Those fingers gripped him a little tighter with the silent permission and they rode in silence.

 

He knew they were approaching Chinatown before the cable car actually stopped in the intersection; it was difficult not to. The streetlamps turned green with golden dragons spiralling up around the fogged-glass lanterns. As they stepped off he could see directly down the hilly street that Chinatown was built around; streamers, banners, and lanterns nearly blocking out the sky with their dazzling colours.

 

They ducked onto a crowded sidewalk and he wondered if they would have time to come back and visit the area at night when all the lanterns would be lit up. Despite the crowds, Eames did not attempt to take his hand or something similarly intimate, which he was thankful for; it would have been too much – too close.

 

He was surrounded by the smell of freshly cooked food, herbs and spices as they passed open restaurants. The buildings were all intricately detailed and brightly coloured, mazes of lanterns crisscrossing back and forth between them. He had decided a few years ago that learning some of the world’s more common languages would be beneficial for his job. So he used some of his previous knowledge from his studying and began practicing by reading the signs they passed, muttering quietly to himself for pronunciation. Luckily, Eames did not hear him over the loud chatter of people talking around them.

 

His mark pulled him down a side street where there were stalls and shops set up with a wide variety of souvenirs, trinkets, and other goods you could buy. As they passed a doorway he paused mid-step and glanced inside. He saw hundreds of books crammed together on shelves reaching the ceiling, “I’m going to look in here.”

 

“Alright, I’ll come get you when I’m done looking around,” the other man nodded, stepping back into the narrow side street.

 

“What makes you think I won’t finish first?” he raised an eyebrow at the man’s assumption.

 

“Arthur, darling, it’s you and books. I don’t need to be a genius to know I’ll be dragging you away, fighting tooth and nail,” his mark winked at him before disappearing into the throng of people.

 

He rolled his eyes in defiance before stepping into the small bookstore. It was relatively dim in the room, sun filtering in through the windows a few stories up and lighting up the hovering dust motes. There were a few other people milling around the bookshelves but it was peaceful, tucked away from the noise of the main streets. As he skimmed the titles he found that he was not able to read a lot of the books, still learning his languages. But an older gentleman, who must have owned the store, came over and led him towards the bookshelf stuffed with books printed in English.

 

He got caught up in a conversation with the shop owner, who shared some firsthand knowledge of how Chinatown had developed since he was a little boy, the man’s beard solid white by now. Arthur took in all of the knowledge greedily, enjoying the personal account of the traditions, culture, and history of the oldest Chinatown in North America. Eventually the man excused himself to go help some other customers and Arthur’s concentration fell to the book spines curiously.

 

He had meticulously selected two books from the swarm when he heard the familiar, and amused sounding British accent, “Told you so.”

 

Arthur glanced up from his chosen books to see Eames walking towards him, slipping a small brown bag in the inside pocket of his sweater, “Buy something?”

 

“Yeah, found something small. I see that something caught your fancy as well,” Eames delicately lifted the two books out of his hands. Arthur appreciated the careful touch the other man adopted automatically, the book covers worn with age and use. “_An Intimate Study of Chinese Architecture_ and_ Chinese Language: The Subtle Art of Speaking and Writing_. Planning to learn the language, darling?”

 

“I already know a little,” he confessed as he pulled out the money for the books.

 

“Why am I not surprised?” he smirked at the other man as he took the books back and brought them over to the owner’s counter.

 

He paid for the books, thanking the owner as the books were carefully wrapped up individually and then placed in a bag. He and Eames left the store together, rejoining the main street. “Is there anything else specific you want to see here? I figured we could walk through the rest of Chinatown to see it and then catch the bus up to Coit Tower.”

 

“Did you steal my map again?” his mark grumbled as they wove their way through the crowded streets.

 

“You’re not the only one with internet, you know,” he scoffed. “I did some research on other San Francisco sights when I was looking up Fisherman’s Wharf.”

 

“Yeah, well you had your turn,” a warning finger was pointed at him jokingly, “But yes, that sounds like a fine plan. Though I’d recommend that we pick up some take-out on the far edge; that way we can eat our lunch at the top of Telegraph Hill.”

 

And that’s exactly what they did. It took them a little over thirty minutes to cross the entire length of Chinatown, which was a little over one mile in the direction they were headed. They found a restaurant directly across the street from the bus they needed to catch so they ordered their lunch while they waited. He was tempted to eat it immediately even though he wasn’t very hungry after their large breakfast; the aroma of the spices was nearly impossible to ignore, despite the boxes and bags blocking some of the smells in.

 

It was another short wait for the bus but when they clamoured on, flashing their transit passes, they found it was nearly empty. He was pleased that with a little bickering and map stealing, they had located a bus that would take them directly to Coit Tower without requiring a transfer.  The drive itself took about twenty minutes with all of the stops en route, so he and his mark took the opportunity to watch the passing city through the windows.

 

He always enjoyed taking public transit, even if it took longer to get somewhere, because you saw so much more of the _real_ city using the transit that the locals used. You didn’t just see the painted up buildings and city blocks made nice for tourists; you saw the good and the bad and how the residents lived their life there.

 

They were about halfway up Telegraph Hill when the questions began again, “So will you go dancing with me?”

 

“I told you that I don’t dance,” he didn’t even bother to look at Eames, staring fixedly through the window.

 

“Not even with me?” he could hear the pout in the tone, knowing without looking that the man’s lip was jutted out.

 

“No.”

 

“Please?”

 

“No.”

 

“Please?”

 

“No.” This continued for the entire voyage along the winding road up the steep hill. Finally, as they stepped off the bus with other tourists who were all giving them amused or annoyed looks, he turned and gave Eames a quieting glare, “Begging and annoying me is not the way to change my mind.”

 

“So you’re saying that there _is_ a way to change your mind?” Eames latched onto his words optimistically.

 

Arthur sighed, “You’re hopeless.”

 

Luckily, Eames took that for the conversation stopper that it was and fell silent. They found a place to sit on the stone ledge that circled the top of the hill and the small parking lot. The stones were wide enough that he could cross his legs and still set his box of food in front of him, though he had to hold onto it lest the wind blow it from his grasp. They pointed out the sights that they noticed while they ate, though he was distracted with watching Eames fumble with the chopsticks uselessly. “You could help rather than sit there and laugh at me,” his mark moped as his lunch fell back into its box once more.

 

“What, do you want me to feed you or something?” he rolled his eyes, taking another large bite of noodles just to show off.

 

“Just show me how you hold them,” Eames sighed in frustration, sliding closer to him so that their knees were brushing.

 

He wondered if it was on purpose but realized that Eames was genuinely trying to mimic the way he held his chopsticks, scrutinizing his hands as if they held the secrets to life. “I hold them like this,” he held his occupied hand up, defeated, “but anyone will tell you that everyone does it their own way.”

 

“That just sounds like an excuse not to teach me,” the other man grumbled, copying the way he was holding his chopsticks. He gave his lunch another go and dropped a baby corn over the ledge, into the rose bushes, “Bollocks!”

 

He sighed in exasperation and stabbed his own chopsticks into his cooling lunch to keep them from falling away. “You’re an idiot. Just hold them like...” he caught Eames’s busy hand between his own, adjusting the man’s grip on the utensils, “Yes, like that. Now just...scoop the noodles...” he pushed the hand down into the box, helping Eames catch some noodles. “There’s no point trying to pincer anything unless they’re bigger chunks of food. And now you just eat. See? Was that so hard?” he finally glanced up to meet Eames’s gaze and he saw the triumphant smirk on those lips; Eames had been acting the entire time, “You’re a sneaky bastard.”

 

He let go of his mark’s hand and picked up his lunch again, annoyed that he had fallen for the other man’s trick. “I think ‘clever bastard’ is what you were looking for, pet,” Eames chuckled beside him. Arthur watched, miffed, as Eames began eating his lunch as if he had been born with chopsticks in his hand.

 

“See if I’ll go dancing with you now,” he murmured quietly into his box.

 

“What? Come on, darling, don’t hold this against me,” Eames was suddenly pleading again, ducking his head down to force Arthur to meet his searching eyes.

 

“You only have yourself to blame,” he continued to eat lazily, secretly enjoying his own revenge.

 

His mark pulled away with a scowl, absentmindedly trying to flatten his hair out. The wind had blown both of their hair askew, though Eames’s hair had been attacked more viciously while the gel had kept Arthur’s more or less in place. “Name your price,” Eames eventually offered as they threw out their boxes and headed into the tower to buy tickets.

 

He turned a contemplative eye on Eames, judging the seriousness in his tone. He seemed to be telling the truth, though he had no idea why the man was so keen on dragging him out dancing – really, it wasn’t a pretty sight. “I’ll think about it,” he answered mysteriously, deciding that his mark deserved a little bit more mental torture.

 

Eames gave an exaggerated groan but smiled, “At least that’s not an outright rejection.”

 

“Don’t push your luck,” he smirked.

 

Despite his teasing they still enjoyed the view from the top of Coit Tower together. They had a panoramic view, and a glorious one at that. With Telegraph Hill at nearly three hundred feet, and then Coit Tower another two hundred feet on top of that, their view dominated everything else. As they moved from one window to the next they could see the main ferry building, downtown, their hotel, Chinatown, the Golden Gate Bridge, Alcatraz, and, “You see that, darling? That’s where we’re headed next: the Crookedest Street in the world.”

 

He did not know if ‘crookedest’ was fact or merely a claim, but as he squinted through the scratched glass of the window, he could certainly believe the claims. Along Lombard Street for just one block the street zigzagged back and forth nine times. He couldn’t make out the details from this distance except for the constant stream of cars slowly inching down the famous street, sun glinting off windows and metal.

 

He realized that Eames had one hand on each side of Arthur’s head, supporting his weight against the stone wall. His mark was glancing through the window innocently, except for the fact that the man’s stubble was brushing against his jaw line. “Well...” he began without turning, knowing that he would be unable to do so without his lips brushing _something_, “What are we waiting for?”

 

“My thoughts exactly,” he felt those soft lips curve into a smile against his skin but Eames pulled away after that, giving him the space he needed even if he quietly wanted something else.

 

It proved to be a little more challenging getting to the top of Lombard Street despite the fact that they could see their destination from the top of the hill. It required two awkward bus transfers in which they nearly missed both connecting buses simply because there was no direct route. Eventually they gave up and decided to walk the last four blocks even though it was uphill and getting chilly as the sun dipped below a bank of clouds.

 

They could tell they were close when they caught up to a huge line of cars; tourists waiting their turn to drive down the famous block. As they came to the top of the hill they found a huge mass of people standing on either edge of the street – even a few people standing _in_ the street to get that ‘perfect’ photo. “I wish we had a camera,” he admitted, watching the other tourists as they began down the famous street.

 

“Don’t worry, darling. We’ll always have the memories,” Eames gave him a sad sort of smile. He returned it, feeling a sample of that inevitable disappointment when they would have to part ways.

 

They walked down the block slowly, pavement so steep they had to grip handrails for part of the walk. The city, knowing that this was a major tourist attraction, had planted lush flower beds in any free space that the road was not covering. There were also huge bushes of flowers on vines, the deepest magenta he could imagine, conquering the homes that stood on either side of the famous street.

 

Still, it was only one block and they were soon at the bottom, looking back up the hill from the intersection below. There was a constant stream of cars and a traffic cop there to direct the flow of traffic; he could only consider how dull that job would become after a few hours. “I wonder who decided to do that,” Eames pondered out loud as they began walking down Lombard Street further to catch a bus back to their hotel. “Like, who woke up one day and went ‘I want that road to zigzag at least nine times in the span of one block. That would be awesome’?”

 

“Someone who was bored with a lot of money and imagination, I expect,” he glanced over his shoulder to watch the street disappear behind another hill.

 

“Just goes to show that reality can be just as interesting as dreams,” his mark laughed as they stepped onto their bus.

 

That caught his interest. “Dreams?” he asked warily, not wanting to give too much away.

 

“Oh, you know,” Eames shrugged quickly, moving towards the back of the bus. It was close to rush hour by this point so they both had to stand, utilizing the handrails. “Whenever you remember a dream you realize how bizarre but free everything is when you’re down there.”

 

“I suppose,” he muttered in a non-committal way. This subject was too perilous.

 

“Don’t you dream, darling?” Eames glanced at him curiously.

 

“Not often,” he stared out of the window, forcing himself not to fidget.

 

“Pity; you seem like the type of person who could really use the full potential of a dream,” the other man was not eve looking at him, instead staring out the window as well.

 

“You make it sound like you can control dreaming,” he muttered suspiciously. Had Eames somehow found out? Was he trying to pry this secret from him, make him confess to it himself?

 

But his mark just glanced at him, a mix of confusion and surprise, “Of course not. But it’s fact that some people remember or control their dreams easier than others – like lucid dreaming.”

 

“Of course,” he nodded, feeling his guarded apprehension melt away as quickly as it had sprung up. Maybe he was being too wary; identifying threats that were not actually there. But the way Eames had spoken...as if he was remembering rather than imagining... “Do you dream often?”

 

Eames continued staring out of the window, even as their bus rolled to a stop by their hotel. He wondered if the other man had even heard his question as they stepped off silently, but then his mark turned to him, “Not often. But when I do they’re rather vivid. Anyway,” Eames shrugged under his sweater as they walked into the lobby of the hotel, “Have you thought of a price yet?”

 

He was startled by the sudden change in topic, caught up in his own thoughts of what Eames had said. For just a moment it had sounded as if his mark was trying to tell him something more, underlying his vocalized words. But the man had shrugged the conversation off as easily as if they had been discussing their favourite type of weather. Eames was making him second-guess everything – this man really would destroy him in the end. They were walking by the concierge desk on their way to the elevators and he saw a television screen advertising different events available during the week. His eyes narrowed as his revenge began to form, “Yes.”

 

“Excellent! I knew you’d come around,” Eames stopped in his tracks, looking eager. Oh, if only he knew what he was getting himself into.

 

“But we have to do my event tonight, to make sure you actually follow through before dancing of course,” he smirked, stepping into line for the concierge.

 

“Anything, love; as long as I get to take you dancing tomorrow night,” Eames winked suggestively.

 

“We’re going to go see the San Francisco Symphony. They’re performing _The Planets_ by Holst tonight and I’ve always wanted to hear it performed,” another person finished at the counter, the line inching forward.

 

Eames blinked at him, “I’m all for intellectual enlightenment, darling, but the symphony?” He merely raised an eyebrow as the line moved forward again. “The tickets are probably sold out since it’s happening tonight.”

 

“The board says there are still some available,” he pointed out smugly.

 

“But they’ll be terrible seats. We won’t be able to see anything,” Eames reasoned desperately.

 

“It’s the _symphony_, Eames, not a play. You don’t need to see the stage very well as long as you can hear,” he stepped up to the counter as the concierge agent became available.

 

He gave an expectant look at his mark as Eames remained standing in line. And then, with a resigned sigh, the other man stepped up to the counter, “We’d like to buy two tickets to see _The Planets_ tonight, please.”

 

“Oh, and one more thing,” he mentioned lightly as he pocketed the purchased tickets. Eames glanced over at him in acknowledgment as they stepped out of the elevator, having accepted his fate. “You have to wear a full suit.”

 

“But--!”

 

“Do you want to take me dancing?” he pulled out his key card slowly.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Because I can happily see the symphony alone and you can go dancing alone tomorrow,” he forced himself not to smirk, silently enjoying the trap Eames was caught in.

 

“Fine, you win,” his mark rolled his eyes, heading for his own door like a man trudging towards a noose, “Come get me when you’re ready.”

 

He held in his laughter until his door was closed and he was alone in his room; revenge was sweet at times. He peeled off his suit and stepped into the shower, wanting to feel fresh. Then he carefully pulled his best suit off its hanger and began suiting up. When he had been packing he had wondered if there was even a point of bringing this suit with him; but now he was glad that he had it.

 

Comfortable leather shoes, black pants tailored for a perfect fit, crisp white shirt – neatly pressed, of course – black pinstripe waistcoat, tie a dark burgundy close to brown, bringing out his eyes, and a dark jacket that sat on his shoulders perfectly. As he adjusted his cuffs, fidgeted with his tie, and touched up his hair, he tried to tell himself that he was dressing up because he was going to the symphony. But as he stood in front of the mirror, debating whether it would look better if he kept his suit jacket open or buttoned, he knew that he was dressing up for Eames.

 

When he was finally satisfied with his look he grabbed his wallet and the tickets before heading out of his room. He figured that he had taken long enough to get ready and that Eames was probably impatiently pacing back and forth; ready to call him a girl on prom again. Yet when he knocked he received a muttered curse and then Eames was answering the door in a complete state of disarray.

 

He blinked once, twice, and then snapped into suit-mode. “Take that shirt off right now.”

 

“I thought we were going to the symphony, pet,” Eames laughed. Yet he did as he was told, slowly undoing the buttons of his collared shirt.

 

Arthur forced himself to walk past that bare chest and pull open the man’s closet, “You have got to own at least one acceptable button-up shirt in here...Here! Put this on,” he carefully took the discovered shirt off its hanger and passed it to Eames. He felt his heart rate pick up as he saw his mark’s entire upper body exposed.

 

Eames smirked but took the shirt, slipping his arms in carefully, “But white is so boring.”

 

“It is also not...” how to describe the first shirt politely? “...loud.” He turned back to the closet, not trusting his self-control with how unhurriedly Eames was doing up his shirt.

 

“That first shirt was perfectly fine; it wasn’t loud at all,” his mark grumbled, slipping a –thankfully – black, double-breasted jacket onto his shoulders, the fabric matching his pants.

 

“Eames, it was screaming at me to commit murder the moment I walked in,” he rolled his eyes, finally finding a tie he didn’t want to burn on sight, “Here.”

 

“I don’t do ties,” Eames backed away, hands held up defensively.

 

“And yet you own them anyway,” he pondered out loud as he inched closer to the other man, cornering him against the wall and the bathroom counter. “Remember,” he smirked when he saw Eames glance towards the door contemplatively, “No suit, no symphony, no dancing.”

 

“You are here to torture me, aren’t you, love?” Eames muttered as he dropped his hands, allowing Arthur to step into the man’s personal space and pop the crisp collar. His heart rate had been running since he had stepped into the room; but his pulse began to fly as Eames wrapped both of his free hands around his waist, pulling him close as he slipped the tie around Eames’s neck. “Though I suppose this is a type of torture I could grow accustomed to.”

 

Arthur smiled sadly at the words while he finished off the knot, knowing that it could never turn out that way. Still, he remained in that loose embrace as he carefully slipped the knot up to his mark’s neck. He allowed his fingers to skim up that soft skin for just a moment as he removed his hands. He felt Eames shiver against him, tightening his hold. He swallowed, finding that his mouth was suddenly dry, “Shall we? We still need to get dinner.”

 

“If you insist, darling,” Eames whispered, breath fanning over his face.

 

He closed his eyes for just one moment, trying to memorize everything about this moment. He knew their week was drawing to a close – too quickly, too soon. Then, with all the willpower he possessed, he stepped away. Eames allowed him to pull away, an understanding look on his face, “I’m afraid I do.”

 

Dinner was included with the performance tickets, automatically setting up a reservation for them at a fancy restaurant across the street from the concert hall. They caught a taxi from the hotel and arrived early, giving them an hour and a half to eat before they had to cross the street. As they began eating their dinner Arthur wished that they had been late so that they would be forced to rush through dinner. There was a tension in the air – a dangerous tension that spoke of known desire rather than awkwardness. He knew they would have to talk soon, even if that would lead to a lot of disappointment and pain.

 

They stayed at their table and sipped coffee rather than cross the street and stand idly while waiting for the doors to open. He was thankful that the mood had not dropped into an uncomfortable one like the day before; they were both still in good spirits and ready to enjoy their evening. But part of him wished he had used that neatly knotted tie to pull Eames closer, pinning him against the counter rather than insisting on leaving the hotel.

 

“Just to warn you,” Eames’s voice pulled him away from his thoughts as the bill came, “I’m probably going to fall asleep.”

 

He smiled in amusement, appreciating the fact that Eames was trying to lighten the mood once more. “I won’t hold it against you,” he promised as he pulled out his wallet, “I’m just glad you agreed to come.”

 

Eames scoffed, “Like you gave me much of a choice.” His mark laughed quietly to himself as he set his half of the bill on the table, “But I’m glad I agreed to come as well.”

 

“Do you not enjoy classical music?” he asked curiously as they left the restaurant and waited for the light to change. He quickly did up his jacket, glad that they would be taking a taxi back to the hotel when they were finished.

 

“I don’t mind classical music,” Eames explained, crosswalk flashing ‘WALK’, “I just prefer listening to it when it goes along with a narrative. I enjoy music the most when it helps develop a story. My mum used to take me into London when I was little to see some of the musicals.”

 

He nodded, pulling out their tickets to hand to the usher when they entered the concert hall. “I enjoy using my imagination to make up a story to go along with the music,” he admitted as they were shown their seats. They were near the back of the upper balcony like Eames had predicted. They could see the entire stage but it was rather far away.

 

“Maybe that’ll keep me from falling asleep,” Eames chuckled, sitting down next to him. He raised a confused eyebrow when his mark began undoing the buttons of his jacket. He was hyper aware of the people taking their seats around him, but luckily (unluckily?) Eames stopped at the jacket, sliding the fabric open. “You look positively delectable like that, darling,” he whispered, pulling away.

 

“Is that a good thing right now?” he hissed, crossing his arms self-consciously.

 

“It’s always a good thing,” Eames gave him a playful look before busying himself with his programme. “Hey, what happened to Earth and Pluto?”

 

“Holst didn’t write a movement for Earth because it wasn’t studied in the astrological practices. And Pluto wasn’t discovered until four years before Holst’s death,” he began reciting information, having studied this orchestral suite before. “By that point he hated _The Planets_ because they took attention away from his other works and he refused to write something for Pluto.”

 

“Poor Pluto...always getting cheated,” Eames gave a sad ‘tsk tsk’, lapsing back into silence to read the rest of the programme. “Did this guy not know the order of the Solar System or something? The order is all messed up.”

 

“It’s based on distance from Earth, rather than from the Sun,” he answered, skimming his own booklet. “Just stay awake to hear Mars and Jupiter – they’re two of my favourite movements.”

 

“Alright,” Eames agreed as the lights began to dim, the San Francisco Symphony filing on stage and tuning collectively. Everyone clapped politely as the conductor stepped onto the stage, bowed, and turned to the orchestra to begin.

 

They began with Mars and they did an excellent job; he could tell that despite Eames’s warning, his mark was enjoying the movement thoroughly. He could see those strong fingers tap against the man’s thigh in time with the military-steady pace. He watched as Eames leaned forward slightly when the music dropped away part way through, slowly growing again until sound enveloped the entire concert hall. He was pleased that his mark seemed to be making up a rather dramatic story to follow the piece of music, which was one of the reasons why he enjoyed this movement so much as well.

 

The music eventually dropped away and they moved onto Venus and then Mercury. Eames checked the programme subtly, probably wondering how far away Jupiter was. Arthur could see his mark slump down in his seat slightly but continue to listen in keen interest. Arthur also caught Eames glancing over at him more than once, watching his reaction to the performance warmly.

 

Eames sat up straight when Jupiter began, the music chipper and fun to listen to. The majority of the movement was quick-paced, dramatic and loud, easily keeping everyone awake. He wasn’t sure but he thought he caught Eames bobbing his head slightly to the beat, smiling in time with Eames’s smile.

 

But then, once Jupiter was finished and they moved onto Saturn he saw that his mark was slipping down in his chair again. Arthur had been expecting this, between Eames’s warning and the knowledge that the last three movements were rather soft and full of flowing melodies. His mark managed to keep his eyes open throughout Saturn, but as they moved onto the second last movement, Uranus, he felt Eames shift in his seat and rest his head on Arthur’s shoulder.

 

He tensed up briefly but then relaxed, dropping his shoulder a little so that it would be a more comfortable angle for the other man. He could tell that Eames was still awake, breathing too quickly to be asleep, but he realized that he didn’t mind the close proximity at all. He continued listening to the symphony, attention split between the stage and the man curled up against him as much as possible with the armrest in the way.

 

It was as the San Francisco symphony faded into Neptune, the last movement, that Eames fell asleep. The man’s head weighed on his shoulder fully, Eames no longer conscious to remove some of the weight, and the man’s breathing slowed. Arthur felt an affectionate smile curve his lips and he carefully rested his cheek against the top of Eames’s hair for the final composition.

 

Arthur found that he was so comfortable in that position, mixed with the hypnotic and relaxing sounds of Neptune’s piece, his own eyes drifted closed. He was not close to falling asleep, barely even tired despite the busy day. He just felt so at peace in that moment, wishing it could last forever. But then, as things inevitably do, the music finished.

 

He blinked his eyes open as the lights were turned up in the concert hall, the majority of the audience standing for their applause. He felt Eames twitch against him, slowly coming awake with the sudden wave of clapping. Arthur lifted his head so that the other man could return to a sitting position; but as Eames straightened in his chair, those beautiful eyes immediately sought him. The rest of the concert hell fell into the background as Eames reached over and cupped Arthur’s face in his hands, one warm palm against each of his cheeks. He didn’t know what was happening but he closed his eyes at Eames pulled him closer, feeling the tender touch of lips against his forehead.

 

He did not know how long they remained like that, the rest of the concert hall slowly emptying, but all he could think about was how badly he wanted to tip his head up to catch those lips with his own. It would be so easy...one second to lift his head, tilt his lips, press forward and tangle his fingers in that soft hair... “We should probably go, love. There are things we need to discuss in private.”

 

Arthur pulled himself away slowly, knowing the other man was right. At this point he was so far from acting professionally that he wondered if there was even a point in trying anymore. But he nodded and they stood up together, exiting the concert hall to find a free taxi. It was not the simplest of tasks but eventually they managed to snag one when they walked a block away from the concert hall, people still milling around in the bright lights. All of his movements felt stiff, precise, planned; he felt like he had to follow a script on how to behave lest his desires take over. It was not the most pleasant ride he had experienced.

 

“I’m just going to change into something more comfortable. I’ll be right over?” Eames asked him as he passed Arthur’s door.

 

“Yeah, alright,” he nodded, entering his own room. He wondered if he should change into something more comfortable or whether he should remain in his professional suit to maintain some level of impersonal distance. Arthur decided that what they were about to discuss had absolutely nothing to do with professionalism and changed into a comfortable pair of pants and a t-shirt.

 

He sat on the edge of the bed, wondering in the silence what he was going to say. Where was this going to lead? Where _could_ it lead? Was there even a point in discussing this? One part of him wanted to brush his mark off, maintaining distance and stopping this before it got any more difficult. Another part of him, equally strong, wanted to tell Eames everything, hope that he would be forgiven for his betrayal, and then never let the man out of his sight again.

 

What hung in the balance was his future and no matter _what_ decision he came to...he was going to need to make _some_ choice. Would he choose his dream job with a professional, skilled team of dream workers who would support him as he flourished and developed his skills? Or the man who was quickly coming to mean more to him than he ever thought possible? He could hardly understand how Eames could make him consider this decision at all; they had only met a few days ago. But it just felt...magnetic.

 

A knock at the door startled him out of his thoughts. He considered leaving it unanswered but that was cowardly and he wanted to know where this would end. He needed closure, no matter which ending that included. So he pushed himself off the bed and walked over to the door, opening it for Eames silently. The other man stepped into the room with a small smile of welcome, dressed similarly in comfortable clothing.

 

“I brought over the wine for us to finish, just so it doesn’t go to waste.” Eames seemed to catch his expression as the man set his key card on the dresser, “It’s not even enough to get us buzzed. I just thought it would be nice to share the last glass.”

 

“Alright,” he went to find the two glasses that the hotel provided each day. When he stepped back into the room he found Eames lounging on one of the couches by the window. He handed his mark one glass and sat on the other edge of the same couch, deciding that using the opposite couch would be a little too much distance for a discussion like this.

 

Eames had already removed the cork once again and filled up both of their glasses before setting the empty bottle on the small coffee table. “To the future, love...however it unfolds from here.”

 

“However it unfolds,” he repeated, touching the edge of his glass against Eames’s for the toast. He took a small sip, realizing that it was his wine because he had not finished it the night before.

 

Eames sighed, staring down into his glass, “I know we just met a few days ago, Arthur, but you have quickly become very important to me.” Eames glanced up at him nervously and he tried to remain calm and focused. His mark looked away and for the first time, Arthur saw a blush tint the other man’s cheeks, “This may sound pathetically sappy but I want to be with you after this week is over. I want you in my future.”

 

“But...” Eames continued quickly, taking a shaky breath, “I know it probably won’t work out. There’s something that makes it impossible for me to be with you that way. I can’t tell you what it is, as desperate as I am to tell you,” the other man met his eyes solidly, begging him to understand. And how could he not understand? He was in the same position. “I guess I’m just being selfish, ignoring the truth that I can’t have everything I want.”

 

Arthur took a long drink of wine, feeling the warmth flow into his stomach. “I understand, Eames, I do; because there’s something in my life that makes it just as impossible for me to be with you. I want to be with you,” he laughed angrily at the cruelty of the world, “more than I thought I could want someone.” He tipped his glass back, finishing off his wine. He reminded himself that telling Eames the truth would only end this week a day sooner than it had to end, and ruin his career. Resolved, he set his glass down, “I can’t explain it to you, and I can’t choose you.”

 

“Woe is us – two star-crossed lovers,” Eames finished his own glass quickly before setting it down, laughing harshly. “So what do we do now, darling?”

 

“Make the most of our last day, I suppose,” he shrugged forlornly, feeling drained now that the decision had finally been made.

 

Eames stood up from the couch, suddenly looking determined. He looked up as Eames stood in front of him, offering a hand. Arthur raised an eyebrow and took the hand, allowing his mark to pull him into a standing position. He was consumed by the man’s sudden smile as he was led towards the bed. Eames sat him down and then moved about the room, turning off lights and locking the door. Finally the other man crawled onto the bed, dragging him towards the middle of the bed as well.

 

The mood was too gloomy for them to do anything so he was unsure of what to think as Eames pulled the sheets over them, darkness and silence surrounding them. He was glad that he had chosen comfortable clothes, feeling Eames settle on his back and pull Arthur against him. Those soft lips blindly touched his forehead, his nose, his cheeks, his jaw, and then back up to the corner of his mouth.

 

He was not sure whether he was angry or content about this since he doubted he would have the determination to push Eames away if their lips met fully.  He wondered if he should even keep his determination to avoid kissing, knowing that it would shatter his will. But did it truly matter if his will crumbled around him? No matter what he said or did, they still only had one day remaining.

 

Tomorrow, perhaps; one kiss to take with him into his future.

 

Arthur felt Eames’s soft fingers slip under his shirt and begin mapping out his back. It was not going to lead anywhere – it was just innocent exploration. But he still shivered under the touch, pressing closer to the warm body of his mark. Feeling brave, knowing he was running out of chances, he snuck one hand under Eames’s loose shirt and began exploring as well. He skimmed his fingers over scars and muscles, memorizing everything he could.

 

Sometime later he felt the other man’s hand disappear from his skin, wrapping securely around his waist to hold him in place. Then Eames’s other hand caught his questing hand and pulled it away from his mark’s chest. Arthur watched Eames from where his head was resting on the man’s shoulder as Eames pulled his hand up and delicately kissed each pad of each finger lovingly.

 

Eames twined their fingers together when he was finished and allowed them to rest on his chest. Arthur could see that the other man was looking over at him, having adjusted to the darkness of the room. “I promise you, love,” Eames spoke softly, “We are going to make tomorrow worth a lifetime.”

 

He felt his eyes growing heavy, exhausted from the day’s activities and the emotional strain they had both been dealing with. He pressed himself closer to Eames and tucked his face in the man’s neck, breathing in that unique smell. He clenched his eyes closed, hoping for a dream to take him to a place where the world wasn’t so cruel. “A lifetime together would be nice,” he acknowledged quietly, finally drifting into unconsciousness.


	10. Day Five: Eames

**Day Five**

** _Eames_ **

 

Eames woke up with the sun. He always slept heavily when he drank as much as he had, usually becoming fully rested with only a few short hours of sleep. He was thankful for this, knowing that without the alcohol he probably would have been stuck lying in bed for hours on end thinking unproductive thoughts. Instead, he rolled out of bed easily and decided to have a quick shower.

 

Once that was finished and he was dressed for the day he realized that it was not even eight in the morning yet; he figured Arthur could use a little more sleep. So he made sure all of the locks on his door were done up tightly before pulling out his PASIV device. He sat down on one of the room’s couches with it and set it for thirty minutes – one hour in dream time. He rolled up his sweater’s sleeve and slipped the needle under his skin carefully, turning the machine on and slipping down.

 

Eames was still unsure of what decision he would eventually make; whether he would give up the chance at his dream job for a man he had met only a few days ago. But he told himself that if he was going to choose this job over Arthur, he better make damned sure that he was going to blow his employer out of the water with his results. Otherwise it would all just be a waste.

 

Recreating Arthur’s appearance was easy now, no matter what sort of attire he chose, but the expressions and postures were still rather challenging. His mark was so complicated; Arthur could be sitting and looking more relaxed than someone on morphine and yet his eyes could be aflame with anger, or darkened by confusion or sadness. It was maddening, trying to mix and match everything realistically to Arthur’s nature while not making Eames look like an amateur.

 

His thirty minutes passed quickly and he found himself on his couch again, staring out his window and still far too early to go wake Arthur up. He set the device back in the safe carefully and then pulled out his laptop, wondering if he could find a fancy restaurant that would serve chocolate-covered raspberries. He wanted to see Arthur’s face when he saw that, but even more he wanted to start this day off well. Yesterday had been emotionally straining to say the least...and they only had two more days together.

 

It took some word tweaking but he finally managed to find an online menu for a restaurant/bakery that was a short walk away. The menu did not proclaim ‘chocolate-covered raspberries’, but it did promise that they would meet special orders to the best of their ability if given advanced warning. He scrolled down the page to find the phone number and picked up the hotel phone. “Hello?” a soft, female voice answered at the third ring.

 

“Hi, I was hoping to make a reservation for two for breakfast this morning and...Well I had a special order in mind and was wondering if it was possible,” he leaned back in the chair, staring at the ceiling.

 

“Well we definitely have room for you all morning, so what’s this special order? We always do our best to meet our customer’s needs,” the woman sounded friendly and genuinely interested in helping.

 

“Chocolate covered raspberries?” he asked hesitantly.

 

There was a moment of silence, “Well we already have fresh raspberries since we garnish some of our plates with them. And we use chocolate for some of our pastries so I can’t see why we couldn’t pull that off for you. When will you be arriving?”

 

“Um...” he checked his watch, seeing that it was a little after nine now but unsure of what state Arthur would be in, “Around ten? And it’ll be under ‘Eames’.”

 

“Very good; see you then.”

 

Eames hung up and stepped out onto the balcony, pleased to feel that the sun was already radiating heat. It should be a rather pleasant day since they would not be by the water much today. He wondered, offhandedly, if Arthur would revert back to his uptight suits or remain casual.

 

As he looked over the Bay, listening to the seagulls cry to each other on the wind, he debated over what he was going to do. Last night had been very revealing but it had only made things more complicated. He could not express how happy he was that Arthur liked him in return, but that was beginning to look more like a curse than a gift. After all, Eames would have to tell him the truth to be with him; and there was a good chance that telling Arthur the truth would cause him to lose the man just as surely as he would when this week came to an end.

 

There was a strong part of him that thought it might be worthwhile risking everything to be with Arthur anyway; tell him the truth and risk rejection and the possibility of losing his dream job. But he had fallen into the habit of looking out for his own interests first, ever since his mother had been killed. He had needed to learn how to be selfish in order to survive. He was unaccustomed to this desire to give up everything for someone else and he worried that it would lead to his downfall.

 

But depressing thoughts aside, he realized that there was no point in making a decision right then and there. He and Arthur would need to talk about this at some point – make a decision - so until then there was nothing to do but enjoy their time together. If this week was the last time he would be with Arthur, he wanted these last few days to be filled with memories he would cherish for the rest of his life.

 

With this thought in mind he entered his room again, locked the balcony door, and headed out into the hallway. He was surprised to find Arthur standing by the railing, staring down at the lobby, “Oh! Morning, love.” He saw that the man had reverted back to his suit habits but didn’t even bother to comment by this point.

 

“Morning,” Arthur responded easily, smile blooming on that beautiful face and setting his eyes alight.

 

With the pleasant greeting he felt excited for the day as he led them out of the hotel and towards the shoreline where Arthur’s surprise was waiting. He had been concerned that after their revelations the night before, Arthur would be distant or uninterested in spending time with him. But whether or not the other man had made a decision yet about their situation, Arthur seemed eager for the day. Eames also noticed that his mark did not shy away when he purposefully walked close by the man’s side, which made him smile.

 

He recognized the building from the picture on the website as soon as it came into view, the railings of both stories littered with hanging flower baskets and climbing vines. The potent smell of flowers mixed with the aroma of freshly baked bread before they even stepped into the restaurant. He led Arthur in, and noticed that the woman he had spoken to on the phone was the Tiffany that was greeting them, the voice unmistakeable. “Yes, I made a reservation this morning?” he smiled, hoping she would recognize his voice in return.

 

“Right this way, please,” she gave him a tiny nod as she smiled and pulled out two menus, leading them into the restaurant. Overwhelmed with excited anticipation, hoping Arthur would like his surprise, he placed a hand on the small of Arthur’s back and gently led him after Tiffany. Feeling those muscles tense and then relax under his touch was just an added bonus to the contact. “This will be your table. Here is your menu and I’ll be right back with the starter you pre-ordered.”

 

“Thank you,” he smiled and gave a tiny nod in return before picking up his menu. He could feel his mark staring at him, looking for an explanation, but avoided the look teasingly, “You’ll see, pet, be patient.” He wasn’t about to ruin the surprise two minutes before it was to be revealed. Tiffany returned a few minutes later, placing a plate stacked full of chocolate-covered raspberries in the middle of the table. She took their orders and he pushed the plate towards the seemingly-frozen Arthur, “They’re all yours, darling; though I want one for curiosity’s sake.”

 

He plucked one raspberry away and ate it quickly, licking away the excess chocolate greedily. The raspberry was excellent, but Arthur...he was the one who looked absolutely edible in that moment. His mark’s eyes closed as he ate the raspberry, licking off the melted chocolate lazily. He couldn’t take his eyes off the man; it would have been helpful if Arthur was acting a little less obscene in front of him even though, secretly, he was enjoying every second. Arthur finally seemed to realize that he was staring and returned to his usual poised self, “They’re wonderful.”

 

He held in his laugh – like Arthur’s orgasmic smile had not told him the exact same thing. Still, he smiled happily at the fact that his surprise was a success, “I’m glad.” He managed to steal one more raspberry away, unwilling to risk his fingers for any more lest Arthur cut them off. He honestly couldn’t say he was bothered though; seeing his mark this happy, especially considering their current situation and how difficult yesterday had been, made him content. “So...” he began.

 

“So?” Arthur prompted him before taking a bite of his breakfast. Eames had been studying the way Arthur was eating, comparing it to the day before. It was astounding how an individual’s emotions could affect everything about them, from the way they stood, to the way they spoke, to the way they cut up their syrup-soaked French toast.

 

Yesterday when they had both been dealing with emotional strain, his mark had cut up his food harshly and ate for the sake of survival rather than enjoyment. Today Arthur’s movements were languid and relaxed and his mark savoured each bite. It may have seemed a little odd to be watching his mark this closely, but seeing Arthur in every potential situation he would need to imitate was vital.

 

He refocused his attention, “So I was thinking we could start off in Chinatown. It’s apparently the largest one in the world outside of Asia. Do a bit of shopping, grab some lunch, and then head over to Coit Tower and Lombard Street to see the proclaimed ‘Crookedest street in the world’.” Alright, now to slip this in nice and delicately... “Find some dinner and then maybe-we’d-go-out-dancing,” he finished in a rush.

 

Arthur blinked at him, decoding his jumbled words, and then he set his glass down in a very final manner, “I don’t dance.”

 

“Sure you do! Everyone dances, sweetheart,” he smirked at his pancakes, avoiding the inevitable glare. He used his absolute best pout, eyes wide and lip out, but it had zero effect. He decided to allow the topic to slide for the moment, promising to try again soon.

 

They finished up with their breakfasts, raspberries long since conquered, and headed back towards their hotel. They were lucky enough to have a cable car line that left from the edge of their hotel; that way they could get a spot before it got too crowded. “I’m not much of a shopper,” Arthur warned him as he took hold of a handrail, pulling himself up onto a cable car step.

 

“Neither am I,” he admitted, “But I figure it can’t hurt to look, right?” He shrugged, not divulging the entire truth. Arthur had bought him the painting yesterday and he wanted to get his mark something in return. Not through a sense of duty to reciprocate, no; he just wanted to get Arthur a similar memento so that he would never forget this week after they were forced to part ways.

 

He remembered their first cable car ride and wondered if Arthur would be more open to the idea of physical contact after their talk last night. Hesitantly, ready to pull away if a slap looked imminent, he placed one hand on those suit-clad, narrow hips. He felt those muscles tense cautiously again, Arthur turning back to consider him. Eames seemed to pass some unspoken test though, and instead of a slap or a rejection he was offered a tiny, shy smile as his mark turned his gaze forward once more. Arthur relaxed under his touch and Eames held him a little tighter, grateful for the silent agreement.

 

Arthur fell back against him as the cable car climbed up the steep San Francisco hills and Eames wished that Chinatown was further away. But it did not take long for the cable car to stop in the intersection at the top of the Chinatown area. Everything was designed beautifully with so much intricate detail that you would need to spend months here to notice it all. As he and Arthur stepped onto a busy sidewalk and began walking down the main street, he could not help but feel like they had walked out of a black and white movie and into a full colour motion picture. San Francisco was beautiful but the vivid colours of Chinatown were captivating.

 

They eventually ducked into a side street, where the tourist booklets said all of the best shopping could be found. He was glancing around curiously at the stalls set up on each side of the narrow street when he realized that Arthur was no longer by his side. He turned on his heel to find his mark peering into a store’s doorway, eyes wide. He returned to the dazed man’s side to see a room filled to the brim with books, “I’m going to look in here.”

 

“Alright, I’ll come get you when I’m done looking around,” he stepped away from the door, dodging the stream of shoppers narrowly.

 

“What makes you think I won’t finish first?” Arthur asked him, already inching into the bookstore.

 

“Arthur darling, it’s _you_ and _books_. I don’t need to be a genius to know I’ll be dragging you away, fighting tooth and nail.” He winked and stepped into the swarm of people, laughing quietly at Arthur’s narrowed eyes. Eames wouldn’t even need to be as observant as he was to know that Arthur would get dragged into bookstores like a black hole.

 

He skimmed his eyes over the various stalls and poked his head into the other stores in the buildings serving as boundaries for the narrow street. He was not looking for anything in particular; just browsing. He came to the end of the street, another building’s painted wall creating a dead end. He was about to turn and head back to the bookstore when a young woman called out to him.

 

Eames turned back around to see a tiny stall pressed in against the wall beside a door that was almost tucked out of sight. As he stepped closer he saw that the small stand was covered in jewellery that shone dimly in the dusty light; the buildings were so close together and so tall that not a lot of sunlight reached the actual street level. The young woman had her hair held up by beautifully painted chopsticks, though her hair was sticking out in many directions. “Are you looking for something for that special someone?”

 

She seemed genuinely curious but he cleared his throat, “No, just browsing really...”

 

The stall attendant seemed to notice that he was still staring at the table of jewellery though and smiled, “What better way to show how you feel than a custom piece of promise jewellery?”

 

“Oh,” he chuckled nervously, “_He’s_ not one to wear jewellery,” he stressed the ‘he’, assuming that would turn her attention away.

 

He had been wrong. She just smiled at him, “We make jewellery pieces for both men and women, though you would want to check out our nicer pieces inside. We keep the cheaper pieces out here in case something happens while the jewellery made of silver and gold are kept inside where they’re safe.” He was considering just walking away, knowing for a fact that Arthur was not a jewellery type of man. But would it really hurt to just have a look around?

 

“Well, like I said he’s not really a jewellery kind of guy...” he mumbled even as the girl herded him into the door beside the stall.

 

“At least let my mother show you some of the pieces. Like I said, we make very simple and subtle pieces for guys. But really, it’s the thought behind them that counts. Momma, someone here to see our pieces for men,” the girl deserted him in the middle of the tiny store to slip into a back room.

 

A moment later the girl ran back out to the stall and an exact mirror image except twenty years older stepped out of the back room. “Welcome. So you’re looking for jewellery for men?”

 

“Browsing more than anything,” he rubbed his neck, feeling foolish. “He’s really not the type of guy to wear jewellery in general, let alone _promise_ jewellery...no offense meant.”

 

“None taken; I am well aware that promise jewellery is generally thought of for women. But our pieces promise many different things, which is why each one is custom made. Here, let me show you a few to give you an idea,” the shop owner motioned him over to one jewellery case tucked under a bright lamp.

 

When he looked down he saw various pieces of jewellery, all unique from the next one sitting on the soft velvet of the case. He was pleased to see that they were all very simple chains or rings made of silver, gold, or white gold; there was not a single heart design in sight. As he looked down at them all individually he could imagine Arthur wearing one or two of them, remembering his week with Eames. The idea suddenly seemed brilliant; he could give it to Arthur on their last day before they parted ways. “I don’t know what he’d wear,” he confessed honestly, nose practically pressed against the glass of the case.

 

“Well a chain might be better. It is easier to conceal if the wearer is a shy or private person. And you will also not have to worry about choosing the correct ring size,” the woman explained, sliding a key into the small lock to slide the glass case open.

 

He nodded, focusing his attention on the chains. They were all simple with different weaves and a few small charms interwoven into the chain. “What do these mean?” he pointed at one closer to him.

 

“The weave of the chain usually signifies one thing while the links and small charms can promise many different things. This one promises luck, health and the weave signifies long life,” the woman pointed out the charms individually.

 

“Do you have anything for...honesty?”

 

The jewellery creator gave him a slightly raised eyebrow, “Not in this case. But let me check in the back room.” Eames nodded, feeling like a cheating husband trying to buy his way back into good graces. Maybe this whole thing had been a big mistake; Arthur wouldn’t want a piece of jewellery anyway. He was halfway to the door when the woman returned, holding a small box out to him. “The weave signifies devotion while the charms represent honesty and trust.”

 

He took the box and opened it carefully, staring down at the white gold chain sitting softly in velvet. It was not heavy, the chain thin and simple. But as he held it up to see it better in the light, taking in the detail of the weave and the tiny charms interwoven into the chain, he knew that it was perfect. He could already imagine it on Arthur; sitting hidden below his fancy collars and ties against his skin. “I’ll take it.”

 

“Very good,” the woman nodded, taking the small box back to wrap it up in a bag for him. It would be difficult to explain away a jewellery box to Arthur, who he knew was observant enough to catch him with it somehow. He paid, not even caring about the price tag, and left the store.

 

He was just slipping the tiny inconspicuous brown bag into his sweater pocket when Arthur looked up, Eames barely through the door of the bookstore; good thing he had prepared for it, “Buy something?”

 

“Found something small,” he shrugged, “I see that something caught your fancy as well,” he carefully stole the two books from Arthur’s hands, hoping to deter the man from his hidden purchase. He succeeded by derailing his mark onto a topic of languages, only mildly surprised that the man knew some Chinese already on top of his French. He wondered what other languages were tumbling about in that head as they left the store together.

 

From there they walked across the expanse of Chinatown, browsing and window shopping more than anything else. They had both been honest when they said they were not really shoppers; they had found something they wanted and were now content to simply walk the streets and take in the surrounding culture.

 

Once they reached the far edge of Chinatown they ducked into a restaurant to order some take out. While they were waiting they began fighting over the map to try to determine the best route and bus to get to Coit Tower. The map nearly got torn to shreds but finally they came to some sort of agreement, carrying their packed lunches towards a nearby bus stop.

 

They rode in silence for a while, taking in the small side streets of the city you would never be able to see if you took a tour bus. It was nice to see how San Franciscans made a life here; saw the small cafes, the way some streets required people to park perpendicular to the street because the hills were too steep. They passed a park with people sunbathing and children running around with kites under the chiming church bells, declaring the hour. It was all very beautiful in its reality.

 

“So will you go dancing with me?” he asked suddenly, bus swaying and windows rattling as the bus slowly climbed up Telegraph Hill.

 

“I told you that I don’t dance,” Arthur didn’t look over at him, jaw clenched tightly.

 

“Not even with me?” he asked, pouting.

 

“No.” He continued begging for the rest of the trip. It was almost beginning to sound like a mantra. The other tourists riding the bus with them were watching in mild amusement when they were not distracted by the views through the window. It was not until they were standing at the base of Coit Tower that Arthur finally met his gaze; though Eames immediately assumed he would soon find himself under the moving bus. “Begging and annoying me is not the way to change my mind.”

 

He instantly focused on the man’s wording: not ‘_the_’ way. “So you’re saying that there _is_ a way to change your mind?” he asked hopefully, wondering if he was on the edge of victory.

 

“You’re hopeless,” Arthur breezed by him stiffly. He trailed behind his mark as Arthur found a place in the sun for them to eat their lunches. He could not stop the smirk on his face, realizing that Arthur had not answered ‘no’.

 

He knew that despite their talk last night, he was not supposed to show too many public displays of affections towards Arthur. The woman in the jewellery shop had certainly gotten his mark pinned in one sense: Arthur was a very private and shy person when it came to affection. But Eames was dying to touch him again, to feel that body brush against his own.

 

An idea came to him as Arthur began eating, using chopsticks like he had read a book on the proper technique. Eames had eaten enough food with chopsticks in his life to do well enough on his own, but he also knew that Arthur had a bad habit of needing to display his expertise. So he purposefully began fumbling with his chopsticks, sacrificing his starving stomach for a chance at a touch from his mark. Arthur began smirking into his lunch when he noticed Eames’s struggle, “You could help rather than sit there and laugh at me,” he prompted, allowing his noodles to slip back into the box.

 

“What, do you want me to feed you or something?” his mark took another large bite of his lunch, looking smug and superior.

 

“Just show me how you hold them,” he slid closer, their knees touching in the warm sun.

 

He was pleased that Arthur did not pull away and focused closely on his mark’s hands, putting on a mask of genuine frustration and concentration. Finally, Arthur broke down and held his hand out further, “I hold them like this, but anyone will tell you that everyone does it their own way.”

 

“That just sounds like an excuse not to teach me,” he pushed, wanting more than an up-close inspection of Arthur’s hand. “Bollocks!” he yelled loudly, sacrificing a baby corn for the cause.

 

Arthur sighed beside him and abandoned his own lunch to grasp Eames’s hand. His mark began muttering a monologue of instructions, adjusting his grip on the chopsticks and leading his hand down towards the food. He felt a little silly, forcing Arthur to treat him like a child, but it was worth it. He smirked victoriously as those elusive fingers brushed his skin gently. He wanted to kiss those fingers – kiss every inch of Arthur’s skin – but he doubted his mark would be too pleased by the idea. Instead, he laughed when the other man seemed to notice his smirk, “You’re a sneaky bastard.”

 

“I think ‘clever bastard’ is what you were looking for, pet,” he continued laughing, finally getting the opportunity to dig into his lunch and eat properly.

 

“See if I’ll go dancing with you now.”

 

Shit. “What? Come on, darling. Don’t hold this against me,” he tilted his head to look up at those soft brown eyes. He could not quite tell how serious Arthur’s s threat was; looking half angry and half playful. “Name your price,” he ultimately offered. If they only had a few days left together he needed to see Arthur dance – needed to take his mark for a spin around the dance floor.

 

“I’ll think about it,” Arthur agreed at last, stepping close to him as the elevator filled up to take tourists up to the top of the tower. He was impressed that the attendant managed to fit so many people into such a small elevator in one go, and it would have been a very uncomfortable ride if anyone other than Arthur was against him. But instead, all he had to do for the minute and a half ride was fight his instinct to wrap his arms around his mark and pull him even closer against his chest. He managed – _barely_.

 

When they got out of the elevator they took the spiral staircase up a few more flights until they were at the top of Coit Tower. There was no roof so they got hit with a blast of damp air when they first stepped out, but the sun kept them warm. They began moving from one window to the next, taking in the San Francisco sights. Not everything was close enough for them to get a really good view of, but the expanse of space they could see made up for it.

 

He found their next stop from one of the windows and then trailed behind Arthur until he came to that window, leaning close to see through the glass. Eames came up behind him, smoothly placing one hand on each side of Arthur, feigning innocence as he pointed out the crookedest street to his mark, “You see that, darling? That’s where we’re headed next.”

 

He was practically hugging Arthur, the man captured between his arms. He did not press himself against his mark’s back but he did lower his head to glance through the window. Arthur seemed to tense slightly, though more with realization of his position than from discomfort. Eames leaned closer and brushed his jaw against Arthur’s just to point out how close he was. He was secretly hoping that his mark might turn to glare at him or tell him off, knowing that he would get a feel of those lips no matter how devious he was being. But instead, Arthur responded without moving, “Well, what are we waiting for?”

 

His self-control was at a minimal low so he turned at a slight angle to brush his lips against Arthur’s cheek, smiling despite his momentary defeat, “My thoughts exactly.”

 

It was more difficult than he had expected for them to get from the top of Coit Tower to the top of Lombard Street; especially when you considered the fact that you could see the ‘Crookedest street’ from the tower. Eventually they gave up and decided to get some fresh air and exercise, walking up to the top of the hill. There were flocks of tourists rushing around, taking pictures from different angles, and he felt his heart drop when he saw Arthur’s smile fade, “I wish we had a camera.”

 

“Don’t worry, darling,” he forced himself to remain cheerful, if only to lift Arthur’s mood, “We’ll always have the memories.” Arthur gave him a sad smile, made depressing by the acceptance of their situation buried in those eyes. Resigned understanding. He could comprehend how Arthur was not exactly cheered up with his words; Eames was not content with the idea of relying solely on memories of Arthur for the rest of his life.

 

However, at that moment while surrounded by swarms of strangers, there was no point in discussing it further so they began to walk down the steep street block. The road was so steep that part of the sidewalk had to be converted into stairs so that people would not slip when attempting to climb the thing.

 

When they reached the bottom they joined another group of tourists to stare back up at the street, watching cars slowly inch their way around the hairpin corners. “I wonder who decided to do that,” he vocalized his thoughts, wondering if Arthur’s wealth of random facts might surprise him yet again.

 

“Someone who was bored with a lot of money and imagination, I expect,” Arthur answered instead, glancing back one more time before the road fell out of sight.

 

“Just goes to show that reality can be just as interesting as dreams,” he spoke before he realized what he was saying, becoming too comfortable with talking to Arthur about everything.

 

“Dreams?” Arthur immediately perked up.

 

“Oh, you know,” he shrugged, forcing himself to remain calm despite the fact that his heart was racing. Dream work was still a relatively new and uncommon profession and many people would not even know what you were talking about it if you described the technology or the process. But he would require a miracle for Arthur – book, knowledge loving Arthur - to not know about dream work. And technically if Arthur guessed his profession, it still wouldn’t give him away immediately; but it certainly wouldn’t make this any easier. “Whenever you remember a dream you realize how bizarre but free everything is when you’re down there.”

 

“I suppose,” Arthur muttered, his interest suddenly flat-lining again; which, of course, spiked Eames’s interest.

 

“Don’t you dream, darling?” he was suddenly overcome by the image of him and Arthur working through dreams together. Arthur would collect information, of course, and prepare the team for everything that might happen. His mark was dedicated enough for that responsibility – protective, too. And then Eames would step in, using Arthur’s lead to trick their shared mark into submission. It was a beautiful thought, one he could not allow himself to want too desperately.

 

“Not often.”

 

“Pity,” he spoke genuinely, staring out the window, “You seem like the type of person who could really use the full potential of a dream.” ...And bringing Arthur into dream work with him would solve every issue they were facing – as long as his mark forgave him for lying during his audition job, of course.

 

“You make it sound like you can control dreaming,” he heard a note of disbelieving suspicion in that tone and he had to bite his tongue not to curse. He had said too much – been too genuine and revealing. Arthur was brilliant; he couldn’t put it past the man to not connect the dots, however obscure.

 

Swallowing his guilt over putting himself in a position that demanded he lie to Arthur, Eames took on a look of confusion and surprise. “Of course not,” _how is that possible_? his posture asked, even though he knew full well how it was possible, “But it’s fact that some people remember or control their dreams easier than others – like lucid dreaming.”

 

“Of course,” Arthur nodded, and Eames slowly allowed his nerves to relax. “...Do you dream often?”

 

For just one moment he considered telling Arthur the truth – the whole truth. Tell him what Eames’s profession was and why he was here and see where it went from there. But he was too afraid that it would end everything too soon. “Not often. But when I do they’re rather vivid. Anyway,” he segued quickly, “Have you thought of a price yet?”

 

Arthur suddenly turned on him, a devilish gleam in those normally safe eyes. “Yes.”

 

“Excellent!” he had rejoiced, completely unaware of what he was about to get himself signed for as Arthur led him towards the concierge desk. Now he was standing in his room, supposed to be getting dressed up in a _full suit_ before going to the _symphony_. He allowed the image of Arthur dancing console him as he showered and then began pulling pieces of a suit off the hangers. His imagination flipped back and forth between entertaining-Arthur and sexy-Arthur, but either way it made him willing to suck it up and follow through with his promise. Besides, it was a night with Arthur; that was all he needed.

 

He had his pants and belt in place and was just doing up the last few buttons on his shirt when someone knocked at the door. He cursed; nowhere near ready with mismatched clothing flung everywhere, covering the floor and the furniture. But he opened the door nonetheless, taking in the sight of his date. Arthur looked absolutely stunning in his suit and the only thing that would make him happier would be if he could peel every inch of fabric off that body. “Take that shirt off right now,” Arthur suddenly demanded, tearing apart his inappropriate thought process.

 

“I thought we were going to the symphony, pet,” he gave his lewdest smile as he slowly undid the buttons of his shirt, pulling the fabric away.

 

He watched excitedly as Arthur watched his fingers work, his mark sliding his eyes freely up his bare chest before turning away to the closet. “Here, put this on.”

 

A plain white shirt was thrown his way and he began putting it on as slowly as he could manage, smirking as he saw those expressive eyes darken. “But white is so boring.” Arthur continued to insult his taste in shirts as he slipped his best jacket on, the fabric meant to go with his pants. But when he looked up, he backed away hurriedly, “I don’t do ties.”

 

“And yet you own them anyway,” his mark cornered him against the counter, cold marble pressing into his back and blocking his escape. “Remember: no suit, no symphony, no dancing.”

 

Utterly defeated, Eames dropped his hands in surrender, “You are here to torture me, aren’t you, love?” Arthur stepped into his personal space and popped his collar, slipping the soft fabric of the tie around his neck. He felt his heart rate flutter excitedly as he slipped his arms around Arthur’s lower back, dragging him closer. The fact that his mark allowed the movement, now that they were in private, caused his thoughts to stutter to a stop; he could only focus on the feel of Arthur pressed against him. Warm and soft, yet strong and independent, but allowing Eames this moment. “Though...I suppose this is a type of torture I could grow accustomed to.”

 

He saw Arthur’s cheerless smile even at it mixed with a small flush due to their proximity. He wanted to kiss it away as the other man finished off the knot of the tie. Eames felt Arthur’s fingers graze along his neck, touching bare skin. He could not stop the small shiver that ran through his spine at the contact, digging his fingers into his mark’s clothing to keep him there – keep him close. “Shall we?” a quiet voice asked, sounding very undecided, “We still need to get dinner.”

 

“If you insist, darling,” he answered, leaning closer. Please don’t insist, he prayed, please let us spend this night together – just us.

 

He watched Arthur close his eyes, debating with himself silently. He leaned closer, ready to capture those lips with his own, but then he felt the other man begin to pull away, eyes still closed. Releasing his hold, allowing Arthur to put distance between them, was the hardest thing he had ever done in his life. “I’m afraid I do,” Arthur spoke it like an apology. And how could Eames not forgive him?

 

He grabbed his wallet and they left for dinner, leaving the rest of his clothes on the floor to be cleaned up later. That dinner was the longest meal he had ever experienced, mainly because he felt like scattering the plates and pinning Arthur to the table. It wasn’t fair that the other man looked _that_ good in a suit and had, just recently, practically pinned him to the bathroom counter. It wasn’t that he wasn’t in a bad mood; he was still feeling rather pleasant and ready to enjoy the symphony with Arthur...he would just be _happier_ if Arthur was naked.

 

Needing to clear the air of the heavy sexual tension, he pulled on a slightly teasing tone, “Just to warn you, I’m probably going to fall asleep.”

 

“I won’t hold it against you,” Arthur smiled, “I’m just glad you agreed to come.”

 

He scoffed at the insinuation that free will had been involved, “Like you gave me much of a choice.” They paid their bill and headed out onto the street, “But I’m glad I agreed to come as well.” A night with Arthur was worth it no matter what they were doing – especially since this was their second last night together.

 

“Do you not enjoy classical music?” Arthur asked him as they prepared to cross the street. Always with the questions, his mark, even after their game of Truth or Dare the night before. It seemed like the man’s interest in Eames was insatiable. Not that he was complaining, of course. He loved answering all of Arthur’s questions that were safe as truthfully as he could manage, hoping that it might help to make up for his lies and betrayal.

 

“I don’t mind classical music. I just prefer listening to it when it goes along with a narrative. I enjoy music when it helps develop a story. My mum used to take me into London when I was little to see some of the musicals,” he explained, thinking back to the musicals his mother had taken him to when he was young. He was too young to really appreciate it at the time, but now he cherished the memories.

 

“I enjoy using my imagination to make up a story to go along with the music,” Arthur admitted easily. Eames appreciated how Arthur would give him a small peek into how that mind worked in return for a small view into the workings of his own brain. The necklace drifting into his mind as they sat down, tucked away in his safe and waiting for the right moment: trust and honesty...if only they had the time to get there unconditionally.

 

As they settled in their seats he suddenly realized that Arthur had done up his jacket buttons against the cold wind. He undid each button slowly, aware of Arthur’s nervousness. The man kept glancing around before focusing on his working fingers once again, looking entirely conflicted. But he stopped once the jacket was undone, pushing the fabric open before pulling away, “You look positively delectable like that, darling.”

 

“Is that a good thing right now?” Arthur snapped, crossing his arms in a discomfited huff.

 

“It’s always a good thing,” he purred. Eames began flipping through his programme, asking questions to pick information from Arthur’s brain. It was like he had an entire library stuck up there.

 

The both fell silent as the lights began to dim and the music began. At first he wondered if he had lost his hearing; he saw the instruments moving and the conductor waving his baton, but he couldn’t hear anything. But then, oh so slowly, the music began to grow until it filled up the entire concert hall. He found himself caught up in the beat and the growth of the melody. Mars: Bringer of War. He could easily picture in his mind two armies marching towards one another, on the precipice of a bloody battle. Despite the fact that he had not immediately agreed to this outing, he found himself drawn into every note of the movement.

 

When Mars finished and they moved on he found his attention dwindling a bit. They were still enjoyable pieces, but they did not capture his attention and hold it hostage until it was finished with him. He tried to subtly skim through his programme to find out when Jupiter, Arthur’s other favourite movement, was playing; he didn’t want to offend the man. He slid down in his chair, closing his eyes to allow his imagination full reign.

 

He also took the opportunity to sneak glances at Arthur when he thought the man was caught up in the movement. Arthur had said that he had studied this orchestral piece before, easily believable with his knowledge on it. And he had also confessed to Eames that he had wanted to see this performed for a long time. Eames enjoyed watching his mark caught up in the music. Sometimes he had his eyes open, sometimes closed; he could tell Arthur was imagining images with the music as his eyes flickered under his closed eyelids. The other man occasionally tapped a finger against his knee, or nodded in time with the beats. But for the majority of the performance Arthur always had a warming smile on his face and Eames knew he had made the correct choice in agreeing to come.

 

Jupiter eventually began and he sat up fully in his seat, making sure to shrug off his tiredness. It was not difficult to stay focused to the movement; the beat was chipper and upbeat. It was very different from all of the other movements, very unique in its melody, and he could see why Arthur enjoyed it. It was not until the movement was coming to an end that he realized he had been bobbing his head to the rhythm, entirely enthralled.

 

Of course, as they moved onto Saturn he began slipping down in his chair again. He was already tired and the new movements seemed to be a lot quieter and slower, even as the music reverberated off the walls. Eventually he gave up and turned in his chair slightly. One of his legs brushed Arthur’s, no other contact possible with the stupid armrest in the way. So he simply dropped his head onto Arthur’s shoulder, letting out a content sigh.

 

He didn’t think Arthur would mind, but he was still surprised when his mark dropped his shoulder lightly, giving him a better angle and allowing him to nestle closer to Arthur’s neck. Even though he would have been happier with the armrest gone, he was content with their affectionate contact despite the fact that they were in public. His eyes drifted closed, breathing in Arthur’s scent as he continued listening to the music hazily.

 

Eames must have fallen asleep at some point though since some undistinguished time later he felt the clamour of loud clapping drag him into consciousness. He felt a little disoriented for a moment as lights slowly blinded him, wondering what the weight on top of his head was. But then that weight was gone and he realized that Arthur must have been leaning on him in return. Feeling warmth wash over him, he turned and caught Arthur’s face in his hands tenderly, meeting those soft eyes.

 

He watched as Arthur’s gaze flickered between his eyes and his lips as Eames slowly leaned forward. His mark’s eyes fluttered closed, giving himself freely to Eames – whatever he chose to do. He wanted to meet those lips –finally – with every inch of his being. But he knew he had to contain himself, at least until after they had their discussion. So instead of meeting those inviting lips he pressed his lips to Arthur’s forehead, still holding him close. He was vaguely aware of the audience dispersing around him but it all fell into the distance. His only focus was the feel of that warm skin under his lips, the heat of Arthur’s cheeks against his palms, his mark’s quick breath fanning over his neck with their position. 

 

Finally, he found his self-control even though a part of him hated himself for pulling away. “We should probably go, love. There are things we need to discuss in private.” He was not a stranger to responsibility, but he had never looked on it fondly. Now more so than ever as his words caused Arthur to pull away dejectedly. The taxi they caught was filled with an impatient silence but he was only marginally more relaxed when they entered the hotel again. “I’m just going to change into something more comfortable. I’ll be right over?”

 

“Yeah, alright,” Arthur muttered, entering his room slowly.

 

Eames began peeling away parts of his suit carefully. He hung them up properly, but only because he knew he would need it when he met with his employer in two days. Or would he even meet with his employer? He laughed to himself humourlessly; was he really considering giving up his job – _everything_?

 

As he pulled on a pair of track pants and a comfortable shirt he admitted to himself that taking that route was riddled with so much uncertainty and potential loss. Yes, there was a tiny chance that Arthur would forgive him for his betrayal and he would get the job and the man. But it was much more likely that he would lose Arthur, or the job, or both. And he had to think about his future; his ability to support himself in the future as well as his chance to hone and improve his skills.

 

In his heart he knew that Arthur was worth the gamble. But the chances were stacked against him so thoroughly that he had to force himself to make the logical decision. He pulled out the chain he had bought for Arthur earlier that day, grazing his finger along the cool metal. It seemed like a silly purchase now; a whimsical decision when he was in a laid-back mood – when he honestly believed that everything could work out in the end.

 

He grabbed Arthur’s bottle of wine on his way to the door, pausing for just a moment to lock up the now-pointless necklace. Then, decision made, he exited his room and headed over to Arthur’s. “I brought over the wine for us to finish, just so it doesn’t go to waste,” he explained as he stepped into the room. He saw Arthur’s expression, about to protest the presence of alcohol during a serious conversation, so he elaborated, “It’s not even enough to get us buzzed. I just thought it would be nice to share the last glass.”

 

“Alright,” Arthur disappeared to find glasses and he moved over to one of the couches by the windows. He quickly removed the cork and then filled up both glasses when Arthur returned. He was pleased that, despite everything, Arthur chose to sit on the same couch as him for this discussion.

 

He set the empty bottle on the coffee table and held up his glass, “To the future, love...however it unfolds from here.”

 

“However it unfolds,” Arthur’s glass chimed against his own and they both took a small drink in preparation.

 

As much as Eames did not want to begin this discussion at all, he decided to speak first. Before he changed his mind. “I know we just met a few days ago, Arthur, but you have quickly become very important to me.” He looked up at Arthur before quickly looking away, feeling his cheeks grow warm. The blush was partially due to embarrassment, not used to speaking this openly about his feelings since in the past that usually led to disappointment and pain. But it was also due to frustration; at this situation and his utter inability to word himself effectively. He needed Arthur to _know_ how important he was to him, and he was botching the job. “This may sound pathetically sappy...but I want to be with you after this week is over. I want you in my future.”

 

“But...” he continued on, feeling his rationality begin to shake and shatter with Arthur sitting so close. Eames could see the man’s heart breaking, even though he could appreciate his mark’s attempt to hide it; he doubted that anyone else would be able to read the pain beneath the man’s mask. “I know it probably won’t work out. There’s something that makes it impossible for me to be with you that way. I can’t tell you what it is, as desperate as I am to tell you,” _Please understand_, he chanted in his mind, _I need you to understand_. “I guess I’m just being selfish, ignoring the truth that I can’t have everything I want.”

 

Silence reigned for a brief moment while Arthur took a long sip of wine. “I understand, Eames, I do...” despite the fact that he knew he should not take comfort in this discussion, that admittance helped; “Because there’s something in my life that makes it just as impossible for me to be with you. I _want_ to be with you,” Arthur’s sudden laugh startled him; it was a brutal, angry sound. “More than I ever thought I could want someone.” His mark finished off his wine and set the glass down on the wood harshly, “I can’t explain it to you, and I can’t choose you.”

 

“Woe is us – two star-crossed lovers,” he muttered bitterly, finishing his own wine with one last, wasted gulp. “So what do we do now, darling?”

 

“Make the most of our last day, I suppose.” Arthur shrugged and slipped down on the couch slightly, finally allowing that straight-backed poise to drain away.

 

They had made their choice, and that meant that their time together was quickly drawing to a close. So Eames took Arthur’s words to heart and stood abruptly; if his time with Arthur was ending, he wasn’t going to waste a _second_. He offered his hand, pulling his mark into a standing position. He thought of all the potential they could have had if they had chosen each other. Then he thought about shoving that potential into one final day. He smiled.

 

He led Arthur over to the bed and then began turning off the lights in the room. Finally, once the room was completely dark except for the light of the moon, he pulled Arthur towards the middle of the bed and threw the covers over them. He didn’t want them to rush into anything tonight; the air was saturated with too much emotional pain. So instead he sprawled out on his back and snaked an arm around Arthur’s waist, pulling the man against his side.

 

Eames was unhurried with his movements, dropping his lips to Arthur’s forehead, his nose, his cheeks, his jaw, and then the corner of that tantalizing mouth. He was dying to shift his face the tiniest fraction, finally connecting their lips, but Arthur’s words from that dream rang in his mind. _Kissing complicates things_. He almost laughed – were things not complicated enough already? What could one more complication do to them? He knew that it had only been a projection in his mind but he worried that Arthur would feel the same way and that it would ruin their night.

 

So for that moment he was content with what he was being given. Tomorrow he would steal one kiss for the future.

 

Instead, he snuck one hand under Arthur’s shirt and began trailing his fingers along that expanse of skin. He was slow in his exploration, mapping out moles, scars, and the small places that caused Arthur to twitch and shiver. He did not mean for it to be anything beyond innocent, but when he noted the reaction he received when he quickly skimmed his fingers up Arthur’s spine...he couldn’t stop. Fingers slipped from lower back up to neck. Arthur shivered and arched closer to him. His mark’s nails scraped his skin deliciously. It was addicting.

 

As he continued memorizing all of the skin he could reach – stomach, back, arms, neck – he took note of the story Arthur’s body was telling him. A person’s body said a lot about what they had experienced, what they had suffered. Eames felt contented when Arthur began to hesitantly slide those soft fingers over his stomach and chest, following his lead. He wanted Arthur to get just as much out of this as he was; making memories to take into the future.

 

He knew they had to stop eventually though; both of them exploring more slowly as they grew weary. He forced himself to stop gliding his fingers over that alluring skin and wrapped his arm around Arthur’s waist again, holding his mark’s warmth close to his own. Then he caught Arthur’s questing hand with his own free hand and brought it close to his face. He kissed each pad of each finger tenderly, loving everything about this man resting in his arms.

 

He twined their fingers together and brought their connected hands to rest on his chest, slowly rising and falling as he breathed. He noticed Arthur’s eyes on him, his mark watching him from where his head was nestled onto his shoulder. Eames glanced down, overtaken by the understanding of the impact this man had had on his mind, his life, his heart. “I promise you, love. We are going to make tomorrow worth a lifetime,” he pledged. If he and Arthur could not share a future together, he would make tomorrow amount to the future he wanted to give this man.

 

Arthur stared up at him for a long time, not saying anything right away. It felt like those dark, soulful eyes could see right into his own, sharing his thoughts. Finally, his mark snuggled closer and tucked his face into Eames’s neck. Arthur took a long breath in and then a very, agonizingly slow breath out. “A lifetime together would be nice,” the man finally muttered against his skin, breath evening out.

 

“It really would,” he agreed, closing his own eyes.


	11. Day Six: Arthur

**Day Six**

** _Arthur_ **

 

He came out of sleep slowly, relishing the warmth at his back as Eames spooned against him. The other man’s arm was wrapped loosely around his waist, holding him close, and Eames’s slow breath tickled his skin with the man’s face tucked against his neck. Arthur could not think of a better way to wake up.

 

But as he woke up more fully, he became aware of an insistent pain sitting behind his eyes. He remained motionless, hoping it would disperse on its own, but the headache just magnified in intensity the more awake he became. He carefully slipped out of Eames’s hold, not wanting to wake the other man as he went to get some pain medication. But the moment he moved his head a shot of pain, hot as a lightning bolt, struck his entire head. It felt like someone had poured acid on his brain.

 

This unbelievable pain immediately churned his stomach, a wave of nausea causing sweat to break out on his body. He rushed off the bed regardless of the pain and made it to the bathroom just in time to throw up in the toilet rather than on the carpet. He pushed the door closed hurriedly and leaned his back against it, sitting on the cold tiles. He waited for another wave of nausea but it seemed to have abated, leaving behind an acidic taste in his mouth to go along with his acid-soaked brain.

 

He groaned and pulled his knees towards his chest, resting his forehead on them. Every movement was slow, stiff and careful; he tried desperately to avoid cause a new spike of pain. He couldn’t believe this was happening – not _now_. Arthur was not a complete stranger to migraine headaches; he used to get them quite often when he was attending university. But they had slowly dwindled away, becoming a rare – but agonizing – occurrence.

 

So why did it have to happen _now_? The last day he could ever spend with Eames, on top of the fact that it was his last day to do his job, and he was curled up on the bathroom tiles. He wasn’t going to waste this day – he _refused_ to. So he flushed the toilet, forced the thoughts of his pain to the back of his mind, and stepped out of the washroom to the exterior counter to brush his teeth. He kept the lights off as he brushed the acidity from his mouth, knowing from experience that bright lights would not help his situation.

 

“You alright, darling?” Eames muttered from the pillows as he stepped back towards the bed.

 

Every step caused a jolt of pain, the sunlight sneaking through the curtains made his eyes burn, and all he really wanted to do was crawl back into bed. “Of course, I’m fine.” He sat on the edge of the bed by the lump that was Eames’s feet. “What are we doing today?”

 

“Sausalito and the Muir Wood redwoods,” Eames proclaimed, yawning widely before slipping out of bed. His mark sat next to him on the edge of the mattress, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and wrapped a loose arm around his waist. He remained perfectly still; concerned that too much movement would only send him back to the bathroom. “We can grab a quick breakfast before catching the 9am ferry.”

 

The thought of food twisted his stomach unpleasantly. “You pick where you want to go for breakfast,” he offered, knowing that he wouldn’t enjoy whatever it was he managed to force down.

 

Eames was silent for a moment before he slowly began rubbing Arthur’s back soothingly; his mark was probably confused about his sudden stiffness and hostility. “Are you sure you’re alright, love?”

 

“Yes,” he spoke firmly, not daring to nod his head. “I just want to get going.”

 

His eyes drifted closed as that hand continued rubbing his back. A few minutes later, Eames stopped and stood up, “Alright. I’ll just get changed and we’ll get going.” Eames leaned down and kissed him on the forehead. He flinched at the touch but forced himself to not lean away. His mark pulled away and watched him closely for a minute; he knew Eames could tell something was off – the man was just too observant. But the other man eventually relented and snatched his key card off the dresser to return to his own room to dress.

 

Arthur remained sitting there for a moment, trying to regain his calm mask. The pain in his head, making him feel like someone was squeezing it under a bulldozer, was making him angry and irritable. Eames had done nothing wrong but he had wanted to shove the other man away. He wanted to curl up under the sheets in the darkness and become immobile. He was so angry that this had to happen today to ruin his last day with Eames. And if he wasn’t careful, he would ruin it for his mark as well.

 

But he couldn’t allow that to happen. He might not be able to enjoy the day, but he had to at least make this day enjoyable for Eames. He owed the man that after choosing his job over him. So with everything he had, he slowly moved around the room pulling out his most comfortable clothing that he was willing to be seen in. The idea of a tie against his neck and stiff fabric against his skin turned him off from the idea of a suit as soon as it manifested. He popped two painkiller pills quickly during the process; he had a few others in a small tin in his wallet in case of emergencies that he could use later in the day.

 

He was carefully pulling a hoodie over his head when someone knocked at the door. He finished his current task before grabbing his wallet and sunglasses in preparation for the day. He opened the door with a small smile and stepped out into the hallway. Eames raised a small eyebrow at his comfortable jeans and sweater but said nothing as they headed towards the elevators. “I figured it would be nice to go to that bistro one last time,” Eames suggested as the elevator slowly descended.

 

“Okay,” he agreed quickly, putting his sunglasses on before the elevator doors even opened, knowing that sunlight would be streaming in through the street-level windows.

 

They crossed the street in silence but the moment he stepped into the bistro he stopped dead in his tracks, Eames nearly walking into him. The smells of a freshly cooked breakfast that had been so enticing before now brought back a dull warning of oncoming nausea. He took a steadying breath, willing the queasiness away with sheer force of will before moving to their usual booth. “I hate to sound like a broken record, pet,” Eames began hesitantly as he sat down across from him, “But are you sure you’re alright? You look a little pale...”

 

“I’m fine!” he spat out, pain eating away at his patience. He sighed regretfully when Eames leaned away slightly, looking a little hurt. “I’m just not very hungry.”

 

“We can go back to the hotel--”

 

“Just eat your breakfast,” he slumped against the back of his booth chair, “Please.”

 

Eames fell silent and Arthur began flipping through the menu guiltily, looking for something that would appeal to his testy stomach. He flinched when the happy waitress came over for their orders, her voice piercing his skull like a spear. He ordered a bowl of fruit and some toast, the only thing he could consider stomaching, and carefully leaned his chin in one hand, eyes drifting closed.

 

His mark would occasionally try to start a conversation, thankfully speaking in a soft tone, but he merely grunted in response to prove he was not asleep. By the time their food arrived, Eames had given up and they both ate in silence. Arthur only managed to eat the toast and half of the bowl of fruit before he gave up, sitting silently while Eames ate quickly. He wanted to tell the other man to slow down and enjoy his food, but he wanted out of this restaurant too much to speak up.

 

Once they had paid for their breakfast and stepped back onto the sidewalk he felt a little better. The fresh air settled his stomach and his painkillers were kicking in, dimming the pain to a dull ache. He realized as his head cleared that he had probably already ruined this morning for his mark with his sullen silence and snappish attitude. Wanting to make up for it, he caught Eames’s hand with his own as they walked towards the main ferry building. Eames glanced down at their joined hands in surprise for a moment before he smiled happily, squeezing his fingers tightly for just one moment.

 

They continued holding hands as they bought their ferry tickets to Sausalito and trudged up the ramp to get onto the boat. He was surprised at how comfortable he felt holding Eames’s hand in public and smiled lightly to himself. “Let’s get a good view so we can see the city as we pull out,” Eames suggested as he carefully led him up to the second level of seats. He was glad that his mark was a little more chipper now.

 

They found two seats together on the upper level that faced the back of the boat; that way they could see all of San Francisco as the ferry pulled away from the pier. Stupidly, Arthur did not consider the issue of the wind until the boat began its voyage a few minutes later. He knew that cold wind would not help any headache, let alone a migraine, but he had been hoping that the set-up canopy would shield them. It didn’t.

 

As they got further away from the shoreline and out into the middle of the water a blast of chilly air hit them; it felt like someone was shoving icicles into his head. He pulled up his hood and ducked his head down, the sudden angle change adding a new flare of pain. His head was still being buffered by wind so with a gasp he leaned over and rested his head against Eames’s chest, the other man blocking the wind. He felt embarrassed with his moment of weakness, swiping away a few stray tears of pain angrily.

 

Eames’s arms came around him, holding him close, and he tried to stay like that. He knew he was missing the view but at least the other man would get a chance to see San Francisco from this angle. But soon the pain began to sear, building as the cold, damp air continued to swirl around them. “Eames, can we move inside?” he yelled to be heard over the wind, flinching at the loudness of his own voice.

 

Eames did not even respond; the man merely used his embrace around Arthur to pull him up into a standing position and lead him down the stairs. He was shaky with cold and pain, thankful for the helping hand leading him into the warmth. Most of the seats were taken inside, other people more intelligent about avoiding the cold when they could. But without a single word, Eames sat him down in a free seat while his mark leaned against the wall beside him. “It’s a thirty minute ride--” he began to protest.

 

“Hush,” was all Eames said. He would have been offended for being treated like a child in any other instance, but in this case he did as he was told. He allowed his eyes to drop closed, adding another barrier between the sun and his eyes along with the sunglasses. He tensed when he felt fingers on his head but then Eames began carding his fingers slowly through his hair. Arthur suddenly realized that he had forgotten to slick back his hair today, though now he was glad for it so that his mark’s fingers did not tug at any knots of hair.

 

The ferry ride consisted of that and nothing more. He kept his eyes closed, focusing on those soothing fingers while trying to block out the loud din of peoples’ chatter and the boat’s engine. Everything always sounded exceptionally loud, excruciatingly so, when your head felt like it was about to explode. He couldn’t bring himself to tell Eames he could stop even though he was sure the man’s arm must have been getting tired. It smoothed over his pain just enough to make it all bearable.

 

The ferry eventually reached Sausalito and they joined the swarm of travelers dispersing off the boat. “I was originally thinking we could spend some time walking around Sausalito but now I think it would be better to catch the bus up to the redwoods directly,” Eames had taken his hand easily, keeping them from getting split up by the crowd. Arthur didn’t mind; he kept his eyes half-closed as they stepped out into the sun so it was helpful to be connected to someone leading.

 

“We can do whatever you want to do. I told you that I’m fine,” he offered, feeling a little better after the ferry ride. It had helped to have thirty minutes to rest his eyes and warm up, not to mention Eames’s fingers calming his body and headache.

 

“I didn’t suggest this because I thought you weren’t,” Eames glanced back at him as they peeled away from the general mass of tourists. “But Sausalito is mainly for food and shopping, and I’m not really in the mood for either right now. So are redwoods alright with you?”

 

“Yeah,” he nodded carefully, pleased that his migraine was not forcing Eames to change his plans.

 

The coach that drove directly from downtown Sausalito to the Muir Woods National Park was set up to work with the ferry schedule. Because of this, they only had to walk two blocks and buy their tickets before they could step onto the waiting coach. About a third of the bus filled up with other tourists, leaving plenty of room for them to choose their seats. As the bus pulled away onto the highway he excused himself to the tiny washroom at the back of the bus, swallowing another painkiller.

 

He was thankful for the quality of the bus considering the fact that it would take about forty five minutes to get to the national park. He slipped down in the seat beside Eames, his mark’s face practically plastered to the window to watch the passing scenery. He watched the scenery for a while as well, seeing the hills that were quickly turning into small mountains on either side of them.

 

The painkiller managed to almost completely push his migraine away; it felt like a small tension headache by the time they were halfway to the redwoods. But he still closed his eyes eventually, giving them a rest from the sun to avoid tempting fate. Arthur leaned against Eames, his cheek brushing the soft fabric of the man’s sweater. He always hated how tiring migraines could be.

 

Eames lifted his hand that wasn’t trapped underneath Arthur’s weight and brought it up to cup his face, brushing his thumb softly along his cheekbone. The bus had filled up almost completely by this point, the coach making more stops along the way, yet he still allowed the affectionate contact. It relaxed the muscles in his face and body, allowing his headache to slip even further away. And the touch also reminded him that they were managing to have a great day despite the poor start. He only wished that it didn’t have to be the last.

 

He stayed like that, content, for the next while until he felt the bus tilt under him to climb a steep incline. He pulled away and sat up to watch out the window as they drove the last fifteen minutes to the national park. The bus was making its way around dangerously small corners at a speed he wasn’t sure was safe. The two-way street was barely wide enough for the coach itself, especially on turns, and it wove back and forth down the slope of the mountains surrounding the redwoods.

 

“Bloody hell,” Eames whispered as they both looked out through the window to see the sudden drop-off that served as a no-argument boundary for the road.

 

Arthur took a quick look and then sat back in his chair, trusting the logic that this could not be the first time someone drove a bus this size along this road. Nor could it be the first time this driver had done the trek. So by all accounts things should be fine, but he still wished the driver would slow down and take the turns with a little more caution.

 

Finally they made it to the bottom, alive and well, and the coach continued on. The road was still winding and narrow but they were on level ground so it was less of a nerve-wracking experience. “I guess we made a good choice to get someone else to drive us here,” he commented when he saw a line of cars begin on each side of the road.

 

“No kidding,” Eames scoffed. They sat back and watched tourists walking along the road from their cars to the national park. It took another ten minutes of driving along that road, dodging parked cars and tourists, for them to arrive to the park. Every minute that passed made him more thankful that they had not rented a car to drive up here.

 

The actual ‘parking lot’, which was only made to hold about thirty cars, came into view along with a large sign: _Welcome to Muir Woods National Park_. It seemed rather idiotic to have a national park of redwoods with a welcome sign carved into a long strip of wood; but he supposed that arguing the point wouldn’t put the tree back together at this point in time.

 

They picked up a trail map as they walked past the entrance, looking at how far in they went and the approximated time to finish each one. “The ferries are relatively spread out so our options from Sausalito to San Francisco are noon, which is pointless, three thirty, or five forty five. I was thinking the three thirty might be good so we can relax before we go dancing.”

 

The thought of dancing made his head throb in warning, “Sounds good.”

 

“Alright, so we’ll have to be back here for the two thirty bus. Or two o’clock if we want to grab some food beforehand...” Eames was spinning the map around in circles, trying to orient himself.

 

He yanked the map out of his mark’s grasp, “Eames, map skills will never be your strong point.”

 

“I could surprise you, darling,” Eames warned with a smirk.

 

“Yes, well I don’t want to be surprised by finding myself in a different state so I think I’ll be in control of the map,” he glanced down at said map to find the national park entrance.

 

“Whatever you say, oh Great One,” his mark pretended to bow to him even as they continued walking further into the park. He felt a smile tug at his lips, loving Eames’s ability to remain good-natured despite any obstacle. “Now there’s the smile I love,” Eames was suddenly standing directly in his path. He tripped to a stop before they collided and blinked at his mark.

 

The man’s words caused his smile to grow, a warm smile reflecting his own on his mark’s face. He leaned forward and quickly dropped a chaste kiss on the edge of Eames’s lips, still smiling. He felt those lips turn, trying to capture his own, but he pulled away playfully, “Come on. I’d like to actually _see_ some redwoods while we’re here.”

 

“Very well, my love,” Eames released his hold on Arthur’s waist – Arthur wondering when, exactly, the man had snuck that strong arm around his lower back. “Lead on!”

 

They followed a longer trail that passed through a wide range of scenery. Some of the path was sunny and other parts were shady, giving his eyes a rest every so often. The trail passed over a few wooden bridges, a bubbling creek slipping away below their feet, and even arced around the base of a small waterfall. Rainwater trickled down the massive hills and eventually fell over a drop-off; the sound of moving water was relaxing to his tired head.

 

The most spectacular scenery, though, had to be the redwoods. Some of the small facts printed on the information booklet stated that the tallest redwood in Muir Woods was 258 feet tall and the oldest tree was over one thousand years old. But from the forest floor, every tree they glanced up at looked to be as tall and wide as a small skyscraper. He could not make out the tops of most trees, unable to crane his neck back far enough for the right angle. And he was entirely unable to wrap his arms around one single tree’s base. It was absolutely stunning.

 

At one point he dragged Eames to a bench and told him to stay quiet for a minute – a difficult feat, he knew. They were very far into the woods now, near the point when the trail began to double back towards the entrance so that they would not be late for the bus. Because they were so far in and had been walking for a while there was no one else around them, most visiting tourists staying closer to the beginning.

 

He sat back and closed his eyes, taking deep breaths. He focused first on his sense of hearing, blocking everything else out. He could hear birds singing high up in the tree branches and the rustling of leaves and branches as other animals crawled through the brush. He heard the leaves sighing in the breeze far above them, the cool air completely still down on the forest floor.

 

Then he turned to his sense of smell. He could smell fresh earth since the plants in the park were left to decompose naturally. He could smell the dampness in the air combining with the smell of healthy vegetation. The smell of the bark was strong but relaxing, making him feel like he really was sitting in the middle of nature rather than on a man-made bench on a designated trail. And he could smell Eames; his comforting, spicy cologne and that musk that was entirely him.

 

He blinked his eyes open to find Eames sitting beside him, perfectly still and eyes closed. He watched Eames’s nostrils flare as he took in the scents of the forest, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths. “Like what you see?” his mark’s voice startled him out of his lazy thoughts.

 

“What?”

 

“You’re staring at me.” Eames’s eyes had not flickered open once.

 

“I am not.”

 

“Yes you are, I can tell,” Eames looked full of himself, eyes still closed. “It’s alright. I was staring at you for a while earlier.” The other man’s eyes finally blinked open, glancing over at him and giving him a wink.

 

Despite the fact that he had just been caught staring he scoffed and stood up from the bench, “I wasn’t staring.” If they would not have a lifetime to bicker over pointless things, he had to argue even when he knew he was wrong. After all, today was the day to make up for a soon to be missed lifetime.

 

They began following the trail again, heading back towards the entrance in time to buy some food before the bus came. They continued bantering for a while but he suddenly drew silent. They had walked into a bright patch of sunlight and the sun had hit his eyes at just the wrong angle, sneaking through the small gap of his sunglasses. This sparked a new pain behind his eyes that immediately drove him to silence. His headache had slowly been getting worse again, most likely due to hunger, but it had been nowhere near as bad as that morning so he had ignored it.

 

But now he stopped dead in his tracks, clenching his eyes closed. The returning migraine mixing with his hunger caused him to sway on the spot, feeling extremely dizzy. He brought both hands up to hold his splitting head, feeling the earth tilt below his feet. The next moment he was fully aware, he was lying on the ground...but nothing hurt from his fall. His head was resting in Eames’s lap, the man’s fingers slipping through his hair comfortingly again. “Arthur? Please talk to me, love. Arthur?”

 

He realized that Eames couldn’t tell he was conscious because his sunglasses were blocking the view of his eyes. “’m okay...”

 

“Okay? _Okay_? You are _not_ okay; you just fainted! Worried me halfway to hell...” Eames muttered in agitation. His mark’s entire body was tense, wrung tight with nerves. He stared up at that face, etched with concern, and he felt a small noise leave his lips. He wasn’t sure what it was exactly; some mix of pain, despair, embarrassment, and affection, but Eames just whispered assurances, “Shh, it’s alright, darling. You’re going to be fine. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

 

“Migraine,” he groaned, defeated. He clenched his hands into fists as another wave of pain overtook him.

 

“Oh love, I wish you had told me sooner,” Eames cooed, still brushing his hair soothingly.

 

“I didn’t want to waste our last day,” he muttered into Eames’s pant leg, turning his head away from the sunlight.

 

“You’re such a selfless idiot sometimes, pet,” his mark gave a teasing ‘tsk tsk’. “I would have been more than content to bring you food and watch movies in bed.”

 

They remained like that in silence for a few minutes, Eames sitting with his legs crossed on the path and Arthur sprawled out on the mulch with his head tucked away from the sun. His headache turned into a constant dull ache rather than momentary bursts of blinding pain and he shifted, “I think I’m okay to get back to the cafe now. Just pass me my wallet.”

 

“You aren’t moving,” Eames protested even as he handed Arthur his wallet.

 

“We’re twenty minutes away, Eames. We can’t just stay here until a park ranger wanders by,” he opened up his wallet and grabbed another pill, grimacing as he forced himself to dry swallowed it.

 

He began struggling into a sitting position, Eames helping him until he slowly stood on both feet. “I don’t approve of this plan at all,” his mark stated in annoyed concern.

 

He held onto Eames’s sturdy shoulder as his centre of balance returned. Once he was confident with his balance he threw his hood up and began walking back towards the entrance of the national park, the fidgeting man at his side. “The only way I’m going to get rid of this is sleep, darkness, and food so I need to get back to civilization.”

 

“And you skipped breakfast?” Eames sighed heavily. “Can I at least carry you?” Eames asked him genuinely, though he could also hear the hint of amusement in that tone.

 

“Absolutely not.”

 

The walk felt like it took longer than twenty minutes, even though they made excellent time. He still wasn’t feeling nearly as bad as when he had thrown up that morning, but the pain was still blinding. When they made it back to the entrance Eames led him over to a solitary bench blanketed in darkness. The redwoods surrounding it were so thick that it almost looked like twilight hour when you looked up at the sky. “You lie down there and relax; it’ll be quieter here than at the cafe with tons of little kids. Is there anything you want in particular?”

 

“Water,” he answered immediately, lying down on the long bench carefully, “And something with grain.” He knew he was dehydrated and that was making his headache worse. And he also knew from experience that grain products would settle his churning stomach.

 

“Alright, sit tight,” Eames dropped a quick kiss to his forehead and then dashed off to the cafe.

 

He would have rolled his eyes at the man’s panic, except that the movement would have not helped the pain. So he just smiled to the trees canopying over him and tried to get comfortable. He pillowed his hood under his head and then threw one arm over his eyes, blocking out the dim light. He felt a little ridiculous and pathetic, knowing that other tourists were milling around him, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

 

Arthur had been worried that his migraine would completely ruin the day. It certainly hadn’t been comfortable for him and he had apparently given Eames quite a scare; but the day still felt fully intact. He had a feeling that he had his mark to thank for that. The man had actually said he wouldn’t have minded spending the whole day watching movies inside – he wondered if this was true or just to make him feel better.

 

So when he heard Eames returning – and he knew it was Eames because the man was running like Arthur was about to keel over and die – he decided to ask. “Eames, did you really mean that when you said you wouldn’t have minded staying at the hotel? Or were you just trying to make me feel better?”

 

“Why would I mind, darling?” Eames looked down at him in confusion, hands and arms occupied with trying to hold two lunches. “I would be happy doing anything as long as it was with you. And besides,” Eames allowed him to pull a water bottle and pasta container from his arms as they both moved into a sitting position the bench, “I have to get a lifetime of TLC out of my system in one day.”

 

“TLC?” he questioned, twisting off the bottle’s lid and taking a long gulp of cold water.

 

“Tender loving care,” his mark smirked before opening his own pasta container. “I hope spaghetti is alright,” he murmured worriedly, testing his own. Arthur nodded and took a small bite, satisfying his stomach’s growling. They ate in silence for a moment, watching the tourists and families wandering to and fro. “I just wish you had told me, love. You need to think about yourself sometimes.”

 

He dropped his gaze to his pasta, feeling depressed. He had already made enough selfish choices, hadn’t he? He had abandoned his chance with Eames for a career. That was selfish, even if it didn’t really benefit him in the end anyway. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

 

“I was going to worry no matter what,” Eames chuckled into his lunch. “But at least I can help you through it now.”

 

The man’s unbreakable devotion struck him hard and he looked away quickly. His whole body felt warm with the other man’s words – both spoken and unspoken – and he bit his lip. What had he done to deserve this man? And how could he be so stupid to let him go? Before he could second-guess himself anymore he slid the short distance across the bench and placed a chaste kiss on those lips. It was not as romantic as he had thought their first kiss would be, the taste of spaghetti sauce between them, but he didn’t mind; at least it was memorable.

 

He stayed there for just a moment, feeling Eames’s lips quirk into a smile against his own, and then he pulled away. He was a little disappointed and confused about why Eames had not returned the kiss; had he miscalculated? “Don’t misunderstand, love,” his mark whispered against his ear, “If I could have my way with you, you’d be pinned to this bench and calling my name right now.” Arthur shivered at the mental image and the man’s breath on his neck, “But that wouldn’t help your headache...and there is also a group of school children watching us right now.”

 

Eames pulled away and busied himself with his pasta innocently and Arthur glanced up to see a group of twenty children, probably still in grade school, staring at them with wide eyes. He gave them a nervous grimace before returning his attention to his lunch, trying to ignore the disapproving look their teacher gave them as she hurried them away.

 

They finished off their lunches and headed towards the bus pick-up area, carrying their bottles of water for the journey. “What about dancing tonight?” he suddenly asked, having completely forgotten about his promise the night before.

 

Eames raised an eyebrow as they joined a short line waiting for the bus. “I figured you’d want to skip out with how crappy you’re feeling.”

 

He thought about it for a moment. His migraine would actually provide the perfect excuse to avoid dancing and Eames didn’t even seem to mind the possibility. But this was their last night and he wanted to do more than just watch movies. “I want to go,” he stated resolutely before he could change his mind.

 

The bus pulled up along the sidewalk and people began to board, “Only if you’re feeling better, darling.”

 

He stared blankly Eames for a long moment before they had to move forward and climb onto the bus. Was his mark, the man who had spent an entire day trying to talk him into this _and_ who went to a symphony in exchange, giving him conditions for going dancing? “Sometimes I don’t understand you at all,” he admitted out loud. And it was true; despite all of the knowledge he had collected on his mark – from the internet and Eames himself – there still seemed to be an infinite amount to learn.

 

Eames offered him the window seat and Arthur slipped into his seat. Eames sat beside him and looked at him seriously, “I would rather leave you knowing you were healthy and feeling better than leave with an image of you dancing in my head.” And then Eames leaned closer and caught his lips sweetly, cradling his head. Arthur slanted his lips and pressed closer, burying his fingers in that soft hair. But then his mark pulled away reluctantly, “You should sleep on our way back. It’ll help your migraine.”

 

He glared at the other man, annoyed that it was this moment that Eames decided to be responsible. But he knew the man was right, the pain still insistently throbbing through his skull. “Just make sure you wake me up when we need to get off for the ferry,” he adjusted his sunglasses and his hood.

 

“It’s not like I’m going to leave you sleeping on here when we arrive in Sausalito,” Eames laughed, lifting his arm up without a word to wrap around Arthur and pull him closer.

 

“I was more concerned with you carrying me to the ferry yourself,” he admitted in amusement. He allowed the other man’s arm to pull him close, turning away from the window and the sun. He found a comfortable nook to rest his head in; right where Eames’s shoulder met his neck and his sweater bunched up.

 

“Don’t tempt me,” was the last thing he heard, smiling lightly at Eames’s teasing as his eyes fluttered closed.

 

“Arthur...Arthur..._Arthur_...did you _die_ or something? Arthur!” Eames was whispering by his ear, slowly rousing him. He grunted and nestled closer to that warm heat, utterly content. “No, _Arthur_, we’re at the ferry docks. You have to get up unless you want me to carry you.”

 

“’m awake,” he sat up straight, cursing when he jolted his head with the sudden movement. Nonetheless he rushed off the bus behind Eames and ran for the ferry, which was ringing its ‘last call’ bell.

 

They flashed their tickets, Arthur contemplating the likelihood that he would throw up again before they made it back to San Francisco: the percentage was steadily rising with every beat of his heart as he ran. But they made it onto the ferry at the last minute, the doors closing behind them. “There’s a two-person bench,” Eames pointed out an empty bench tucked beside the wall of windows.

 

He was thankful that it was at least on the fully sheltered deck. But that did not do much to appease his twisting stomach and he worried that he was going to lose his lunch. “I think I’m going to be sick,” he whispered even as Eames pulled him over to the bench. His cheeks were beginning to tingle and he felt a flush take over his body.

 

“Don’t focus on the nausea or the pain, love,” Eames sat down on the bench with his back against the windows, one leg along the bench and the other placed firmly on the floor to maintain his position.

 

“There’s not much else to focus on,” he panted, shaky as Eames pulled him down onto the bench with him. He had not thought the bench was wide enough for both of them to fit lengthwise rather than sitting, but he was proven wrong as he fit perfectly between his mark’s leg and the edge of the bench.

 

He hooked his feet under the armrest to keep himself from falling over as Eames began rubbing smooth circles on his back with his palms. His body soaked up the warmth and his muscles relaxed. He focused on the sole sensation of Eames’s hands rubbing his back relaxingly, trying to ignore the pain and the sickness as they slowly faded into the background.

 

Once the queasiness had disappeared and he was sure he wasn’t going to throw up, he fell back against Eames’s chest. The steady rise and fall was comforting as he allowed every muscle to relax. His head fell sideways and came to rest along Eames’s collarbone. He was surprised that he was still so exhausted, but he worried he might not be able to sleep with so many people talking around him. “This is so embarrassing,” he muttered.

 

Eames scoffed and slid an arm around his midriff to hold him in place, “Whatever you need right now, darling. Screw the rest.”

 

Arthur should not have been concerned about being able to sleep because the next time he was aware of his surroundings the landing bell was chiming. “Are we there already?”

 

“You slept the whole way,” Eames dropped a kiss to the top of his head carefully, “How are you feeling?”

 

He thought about it for a moment as he stood up, allowing Eames to stand and stretch his legs. “Much better,” he realized. “My head is still throbbing and I’m considering the idea of destroying the sun...but it doesn’t feel like my head is going to split open.”

 

“If anyone could find a way to destroy the sun it would be you, pet, so I say this honestly: please don’t destroy the sun,” Eames teased with a laugh as they stepped off the ferry and began walking towards their hotel.

 

He smiled at his feet, “No promises.”

 

“Well how about we get rid of that headache completely, then? I’m sure the human race will thank me for helping it continue to another generation,” they stepped into an empty elevator. The majority of the hotel seemed deserted since it was still early afternoon.

 

“I’m tired of sleeping,” he grumbled, fishing out his key card. “I’m well enough to enjoy the rest of the day.”

 

“Do you want to go dancing?” Eames followed him into his room without an invitation; not that he really needed one.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Then you need to sleep. Hey, don’t argue with me,” his mark pointed a threatening finger at him. “You had your ultimatum and now I have mine.” Eames pushed him onto the edge of the bed lightly with a playful wink before heading over to the windows to pull the curtains completely closed. “Besides, no matter how ‘okay’ you say you are, there’s no point going to a place with loud music when you have a headache.”

 

He slipped under the covers sullenly, pulling his sweater off and chucking it at Eames when his mark approached the bed. Eames laughed and got onto the bed, crawling towards him, “Feeling playful are we?”

 

He swallowed, memories of his dream from a few nights ago flashing through his mind for a moment, “...No.”

 

“You just like to pretend that you’re this perfect,” Eames kissed his collarbone, “poised,” he kissed his neck, “professional guy who does no wrong,” a quick peck to his lips. Eames rolled over and lay beside him on the bed, smirking, “But you are human somewhere under that mask, darling. You like to have fun and be immature sometimes too.”

 

“Depends on who I’m with,” he whispered, feeling Eames’s finger slowly trace patterns along his arm. He felt excited with his mark’s words, realizing how close Eames had actually gotten in such a short time. He almost found it annoying, this man coming out of nowhere and picking him apart until he revealed his soul. But it also made his heart flutter, knowing that the other man cared that much about knowing the _real_ him. “You’re not exactly who you pretend to be either, you know.”

 

“What do you mean?” Eames leaned closer with a smile, obviously curious.

 

“Well,” he began carefully, sliding closer, “Even though I don’t know exactly what you do it’s clear that you’re a good actor. You act so carefree and happy all the time but it seems like you have an unlimited supply of masks to wear in public. I get from what you’ve told me of your past that it’s hard for you to trust people. But you’re not all British charm, flirting and cheer like you pretend. There’s a part of you that’s hidden away...and I think you’re waiting for someone brave to step close enough and know you fully.”

 

Eames blinked at him silently for a moment. And then he was crawling on top of him, carefully holding his weight off Arthur’s body with only the bed sheets and clothes between them. “Well I guess I don’t need to wait anymore,” his mark whispered before catching his lips quickly, stealing away his response.

 

He broke the kiss for one second to catch his breath and then twined his fingers in the man’s mussed hair, pulling him back down. Their lips fit together perfectly, slanting together and moving in harmony. It was like they had been doing this since the first day they met – for a lifetime. The man’s lips were as soft as they looked, and tasted even better. Eames was holding his face close, fingers skimming against skin. His mark brushed the tip of his tongue against his lips as he dropped more of his weight onto Arthur. He opened his mouth to allow Eames’s tongue entrance, groaning at the weight of the other man resting on him, but suddenly Eames was pulling away, “I’m sorry; are you alright?”

 

He panted, trying to catch his breath. “What...?” he saw Eames’s look of concern and realized that his mark had gotten off him entirely, “That was not a groan of pain.”

 

“Oh...” Eames suddenly looked a little sheepish. “Well we should probably stop now before we get...excited,” he smirked, slipping off the bed.

 

“You really expect me to sleep after _that_?” he spat in disbelief. His body was still tingling.

 

“I absolutely do,” Eames laughed and came around the side of the bed. “Get some rest and I’ll get some food ordered for when you wake up. Do you mind if I borrow your key?” his mark kissed him on the forehead teasingly and stepped over to the dresser.

 

“You are a torturous bastard, you know that?” he grumbled into his pillows, waving Eames away to show he didn’t mind him borrowing the key card.

 

“Better believe it, darling. I’ll be back,” Eames promised as he exited the room.

 

It took a few minutes for his body to calm down, but once it had he felt exhaustion and the remnants of a headache envelope him again. The last thing on his mind before he slipped away into sleep was the feel of Eames’s lips on his own and that open, vulnerable and yet comforted look in those blue green eyes.

 

He slept without dreaming so he could not quite tell how long he had been asleep when he slowly drifted into consciousness. He remained motionless under the sheets and his mountain of pillows for a few minutes, sighing happily when he realized that his migraine had finally disappeared. Sometime later he squinted at his watch in the darkness, barely able to make out the time: it was a little after seven. He groaned, “You alright, love?” a voice asked from the bathroom area.

 

He noticed that a light was on, illuminating Eames as he stepped into the main room. “What were you doing over there?” he asked curiously, reaching over to turn on the bedside lamp.

 

“Reading,” Eames held up a book; _his_ new book on Chinese architecture. Eames set it down on the dresser carefully before sitting on the bed beside him, “So why were you groaning? Still have your headache?”

 

“No, the headache is entirely gone luckily,” he sat up against the pillows, fully awake and rested now. “I was groaning because I realized that I spent the majority of our last day sleeping.”

 

“That’s alright, love. We were trying to fit a lifetime in, remember? We couldn’t have gone an entire lifetime without one of us getting sick,” the other man leaned back into the pillows as well, looking sad but not angry. “Hungry? I’ll tell them to bring the food up.”

 

Arthur nodded and Eames picked up the hotel phone. When that was done, Arthur gave an exasperated sigh. “This is the worst situation I have, or ever will, experience,” he pledged, entirely believing his own words.

 

“I know,” Eames agreed. No reassurances, no carefree shrugging, just distressed agreement. The other man glanced over at him, suddenly looking hesitant, “I checked out while you were sleeping so I wouldn’t need to worry about dealing with the charges tomorrow...my plane leaves at eleven in the morning and it’s international so--”

 

“So you’ll have to be there at least two hours before departure,” he finished the man’s sentence, feeling a hard lump in his throat. “We won’t even have the morning.”

 

“I wish I could reschedule, love...” Eames began but was interrupted by a knock at the door. “That’d be the food...I’ll be right back.”

 

“I might as well check out while you deal with that,” he muttered gloomily, dialling the front desk and grabbing his wallet for his credit card. “Yes, I am staying in room 1731 and I’d like to do my check out now so I won’t have to worry about doing it tomorrow.” The man at the front desk talked him through the process while Eames and a hotel attendant brought in the trays of food. When he was finished checking out he bit his lip, “And there should be a plane ticket ready for me? Yes, yes alright; I’ll pick it up tomorrow.”

 

The attendant had left by now and Eames was spreading out the food on the massive bed. Arthur did not complain, enjoying how homey and intimate it felt. “You’re leaving tomorrow as well?” Eames asked with a small note of hope in his tone.

 

“Yeah,” he nodded, picking up a plate and pulling a sample of each dish onto his plate to try, “At six in the afternoon.”

 

They fell silent, eating without enjoying. Eames attempted to lighten the mood a few times but was not very successful. Eventually they were full, plates polished off, and they sat across the bed from one another. “Alright,” Eames suddenly stood up, nearly causing the trays to topple off the mattress. “This is our last night so we need to make this the best bloody night of our lives. So let’s get dressed and go dancing!”

 

“That’s great Eames...” Arthur began, slowly moving the food trays onto the trolley before the excited man could dump them all over his bed. “But it’s only eight o’clock. The clubs won’t even be open yet.” He pushed the trolley out into the hallway so that a hotel attendant would take it away later.

 

“Hm...that is a dilemma,” Eames pressed a finger to his lip in thought for a moment, effectively distracting Arthur. “How about we waste time picking each other’s outfits - because I am not taking you dancing in a suit, pet – and then we’ll get changed, share a drink at the bar, and _then_ go dancing!”

 

“Where did this hyperactivity come from?” he mumbled even as he pulled his drawers with clothes open for the other man to inspect.

 

“Who knows,” Eames pinned him to the dresser playfully for a moment before getting distracted by his clothes, “But let’s make the best of it.”

 

A few hours, and one drink later they were stepping into a highly recommended club. Eames had chosen out a brown leather jacket he had stuffed away in a corner of his suitcase, whistling and wiggling his eyebrows when he spotted it. The man had also chosen a pair of dark jeans and a dark red t-shirt for him; both of which were, in his opinion, so tight that he should probably consider throwing them out. His mark had also insisted that he leave his hair free, mussing it up to his liking when Arthur was finished dressing after his shower.

 

 But he was pleased that he had been in charge of Eames’s outfit considering the fact that the man had chosen that same..._loud_ shirt again. His mark had chosen his pants well, a faded blue that brought out his eyes but didn’t look worn out. It was actually rather difficult to find a suitable shirt though. Eames blatantly rejected his suggestion of a collared shirt and at one point he felt himself yelling, “Do you own anything other than wife beaters?”

 

“Yeah, there’s a few t-shirts stuffed back there,” Eames had slipped into the closet to rummage through a pile of clothing. Arthur had spotted a black t-shirt and given up, throwing it at the other man. One gem he stumbled on though – literally – was a long, black pea coat hidden away in a corner.

 

As they stepped into the club the pulse of the music altered his heartbeat and he was suddenly grateful that Eames had forced him to sleep away his headache. They checked in their coats and headed upstairs. They managed to steal a somewhat secluded booth that still gave a view of the dance floor and they ordered another drink. They had both agreed that they weren’t going to drink much tonight in order to make sure they remembered everything and also to make sure they were feeling alright to travel tomorrow. But he knew that he needed at least one more after the hotel to work up his courage to dance. It wasn’t that he didn’t know _how_ to dance...he was just horrendously _bad_ at it.

 

Their drinks eventually disappeared though and Eames stood up, motioning him towards the dance floor. The club was beginning to fill up now, most of the booths taken and not a lot of dance floor still visible. He remained sitting, shaking his head, but Eames just grabbed his arm and pulled him away from his seat. “Don’t be so shy, darling. You don’t even have to do any work; I already want you.”

 

He blushed at the words as they joined the edge of the hardwood floor, only a step or two away from the walls covered in graffiti, “You might change your mind.”

 

“_Nothing_ could make me change my mind, love. You can trust me on that. Just...” Eames began swaying his hips to the beat; the movement was hypnotic to watch, “dance how you want to dance. Let loose and enjoy!”

 

He stood there uselessly for a moment or two, watching Eames as his mark quickly closed his eyes and got lost in the music. Damn, that man could move his hips. But Eames seemed to notice that he wasn’t dancing and opened his eyes again, raising an eyebrow. So he stepped a little closer and...danced.

 

Arthur closed his eyes and fell into the beat of the music. He didn’t know if he was doing it right or whether he was just embarrassing himself; he just kept doing what his body and the music told him to do. At some point Eames caught his hands with his own, leading him through a few moves with a good-natured laugh. And Arthur laughed too, feeling free and thoroughly enjoying himself.

 

A few songs later the bass grew steady and deep and he felt Eames pull him closer. His mark pulled his arms up, hinting that Arthur should wrap his arms around Eames’s neck and shoulders. He did so, feeling those muscles contracting and relaxing under his touch as the other man continued to dance. At the same time he felt Eames’s arms snake around him, fingers splayed out and hands holding his hips tightly.

 

Eames began leading him in a dance to the primal pulse of bass, his mark’s strong body directing him as they pressed close together. He swayed in time with Eames’s movements but lost his focus when the other man began kissing and sucking along his neck. He held Eames closer, nails digging into fabric at the sensation. This caused Eames to pull his hips forward at the perfect moment to meet the man’s thrust. “Eames...” he whined against the man’s ear, holding tight and thrusting forward again.

 

He felt himself being led backwards until his back met a wall. He threw his head back and groaned at the feeling of being pinned between two very hard surfaces – one cool and one _very_ warm. They continued swaying in their own intimate dance, thrusts in time with the beat even as the song changed. As much as he loved the feel of lips and teeth on his neck, he wanted something more. He used one of his hands to grip Eames’s hair and pull the man’s mouth upwards to capture it hungrily.

 

Eames responded eagerly, one hand remaining on his lower back to keep the rhythm while the other trailed up his body and finally rested against his neck, tilting his head properly. Arthur kept his hands where they were, unable to focus enough to figure out another place to put them. He felt Eames groan against him, the sound reverberating from his chest despite the music, and Arthur pulled away, “Hotel.”

 

“Right,” Eames nodded. His mark stole one more desperate kiss before pulling away, taking his hand to lead him through the throng of dancers.

 

They got their coats and left the club in a panting rush, thankful that there was a row of cabs waiting to pick clubbers up. They slipped into the back seat and he put a hand up when Eames tried to slip over to his side of the cab. He was already embarrassed that he had been that intimate in the club despite the fact that everyone else was probably in the process of doing the same thing. “I don’t know why you suggested dancing. We could have just stayed in the hotel and saved ourselves the cab fee.”

 

“I don’t regret a thing, darling,” Eames smirked, cheeks flushed with arousal. That was a beautiful sight. “First of all, I’ll always have that memory. And secondly, I wanted proof of my assumption that you would be a fucking sexy dancer when you let yourself.”

 

“Bastard,” he grumbled, laughing. He wouldn’t give up the memory for anything either.

 

They paid the cab driver and rushed into the hotel, trying to make themselves look a little less obvious – and probably failing. He stopped in front of his door, the tray gone, and was about to search for his key card when he felt Eames press up against him. Eames had both hands resting on the door, one on either side of his head. The man’s body was pressing his against the door and grinding against his ass. He groaned and forgot what he was doing. “Unless you want something to happen right here in this hallway you better find that key card fast, darling.”

 

He thrust back against Eames, partially for the sensation and partially to get the space to fit his hand into his pocket to fish out his key. They fell into the room as the door opened but Eames caught him before he made it to the ground. He heard the door click closed and that seemed to be the trigger to start their frenzy. Clothing was peeled off hurriedly and flung aside haphazardly.

 

Both men were naked except for their boxers before they even made it out of the front entryway. He felt Eames step closer to him again, pressing his back against the wallpaper. Strong arms suddenly appeared underneath him, hoisting him into the air. He wrapped his arms around Eames’s neck and his legs around the man’s waist, his mark supporting his weight with the help of the wall. Their lips finally met again, each time feeling like the first.

 

He moaned into Eames’s mouth again, offering entry for that exploring tongue as the other man thrust up against him again. But then his mark pulled away, panting, “Wait, we’re rushing this.”

 

“We don’t exactly have another day to do the whole courtship thing,” he began nipping down the man’s neck, shivering at the groan it brought out.

 

“I know, but we’re going to do this right,” Eames kissed his collarbone, Arthur’s mouth too busy at that moment for a kiss. Then he felt the wall disappear from behind him, Eames snatching a bottle of lotion from the bathroom counter before walking him over to the bed. Eames dumped him on the soft mattress before quickly crawling on top of him.

 

They moved to the middle of the bed, sinking down in the soft duvet and disposing of their boxers quickly. Their kissing grew slower, languid, as they savoured every moment. He tried to memorize everything. The feel of those lips moving with his own perfectly, as if they had been born to do this. That tongue swiping along his lips and into his mouth, tasting of mint, scotch and that unique taste that was all Eames. The man’s stubble brushing against him, surprisingly comforting even though he had been expecting it to be a nuisance.

 

The feel of the man’s weight on top of him was reassuring, warmth soaking into his body from above. He loved the feeling of being pressed down into the mattress, their hips thrusting together shallowly as they kissed. Eames’s hands were occupied holding his weight up but Arthur allowed his fingers to roam freely, enjoying the feel of those powerful muscles flexing and shivering with his touch.

 

“You know, I was surprised...that you kissed me...darling,” Eames was panting when he finally broke the kiss.

 

“Why?” he asked curiously, also struggling to catch his breath.

 

He watched inquisitively as Eames suddenly ducked his head, looking shy. “Well a few nights ago I...dreamt about you. And you kept me from kissing you – said it complicated things. I suppose I just assumed you would say the same in reality—what? Why are you looking at me like that?” Eames asked when he finally looked up to meet his eyes.

 

He blinked stupidly for a moment as realization slowly dawned on him. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was feeling; whether this was a sickening dread filling him or whether his nerve endings were sparking to life at the thought that he and Eames had already been _together_. “Was I wearing a collar?”

 

Eames’s eyes went wide, pulling away slightly, “Shit. I’m so sorry, love. It must have been some sort of shared dream. I didn’t know--”

 

Arthur grabbed the man’s head and brought those apologizing lips into a searing kiss. Eames, apparently realizing that he was not at all angry about the shared dream, returned the kiss desperately, occasionally whispering his name between their lips like a prayer. He could not even focus enough to care about why the shared dream had happened, or how. His nerve endings were definitely sparking to life, eagerly awaiting act two. “Eames,” he whined, worried he was going to finish far too soon if they kept this up. His companion stared down at him adoringly, waiting, “I want you inside me..._now_.”

 

Eames groaned loudly, nipping his bottom lip before beginning to kiss down his body. “You shouldn’t be allowed to talk like that, love.”

 

“You love it,” he moaned, arching up against those questing lips as they got distracted by his nipples, mouth working around one while two fingers pinched his neglected one.

 

“Damn straight I do,” Eames smiled against his skin, dipping lower.

 

“_Eames_,” he moaned again, trying to add a warning tone as his mark began sucking his length into his mouth. “I need _you_.”

 

Eames released him and blew cool air against his moist need teasingly, causing him to buck up at the feeling. Then the other man reached over for the bottle of lotion he had snagged and dipped his fingers in. “I hope you don’t mind smelling like lilies, darling,” Eames smirked, moving between his spread legs again.

 

“I—_hngh_ – hate you,” he groaned when that first finger slipped into him. It reminded him of their shared dream, though the finger was cooler inside of him now. Eames kissed the tense skin along his hips and inner thighs as he carefully worked one and then two fingers in and out of him. He arched up, trying to push himself down on those fingers, and Eames began sucking on his inner thigh – he was definitely going to have a bruise there. “..._Please_,” he eventually keened, not even caring that he was begging.

 

Those fingers disappeared, leaving him with a depressing sense of being alone and empty...How was he ever going to survive their split tomorrow? Those thoughts fell away as Eames returned, pushing himself in slowly. He grunted quietly at the feeling of being stretched, trying to relax when Eames whispered for him to do so. Finally, when Eames was fully seated inside of him, the other man leaned forward and kissed him. His lover was breathing hard, panting into his mouth, but the kiss spoke of devotion and adoration. In that one moment, a moment he would never forget for the rest of his life, he felt utterly complete.

 

Eames slowly began to slide all the way out and then _all_ the way back in, pulling away from his lips to get enough air. Arthur, having adjusted to the feeling of Eames being inside him, leaned up and nipped the man’s neck to spur him into a faster pace. He fell back against the duvet, groaning as Eames began thrusting faster. “You’re gorgeous, love,” his mark breathed against his skin, “Feel so good, _ungh_, _so tight_...Could do this forever...”

 

These words caused his breath to catch and he quickly wrapped his legs around the man’s thrusting hips. He began to buck up to meet each thrust, adjusting his angle until Eames shoved against that bundle of nerves deep inside him. “_Fuck_,Eames,” he called, feeling his body spasm in warning as he was wound tighter.

 

As his body clenched around Eames’s length, the other man’s pace grew frantic, both of them aroused and desperate for that wave of completion. Eames began pushed against his prostate with each thrust, both of them having perfected the angle and their harmonious rhythm. His companion’s hands were cradling him close, Arthur’s cock sliding against skin as their bodies rocking against one another. He wrapped his arms around Eames’s shoulders, holding the man close and digging his nails in for purchase.

 

They were both close, bodies thrusting wildly without a care for pattern, and he felt Eames’s lips against his neck. “Who do you belong to, Arthur? Who owns your heart?”

 

Teeth nipped his neck and he gasped, thrusting up desperately, “You.”

 

“_Who_?” Eames asked before sucking the skin he had nipped, thrusts so hard that he felt his body being shoved up the bed slightly.

  
“_You_,” he yelled, throwing his head back to give the man better access, “God, _you_...”

 

“For how long, love?” Eames was pulling his body back down the bed after each thrust to meet the next one.

 

“Forever...” he moaned into the air between them. He could feel the tingling sensation of a hickey being created on his neck. He could feel his cock sliding between sweaty flesh. He could feel Eames’s length inside him – claiming him.

 

And that was it. Eames leaned forward and caught his lips with his own, Arthur calling the man’s name into that questing mouth. His whole body tensed and arched up against his mark’s hot body. He came across both of their stomachs with a breathless yell, body bucking up frantically as he rode out the spasms coursing through him.

 

He felt himself clench around that burning length still moving inside of him, sending shockwave after shockwave through his sensitized body. “Come for me, Eames,” he whispered into the air, loving the control he had over this man. Eames choked out a gasp and whispered his name like an intimate secret as he buried himself to the hilt one last time and came. He felt the warmth fill him as Eames continued to thrust shallowly, spilling everything into his body.

 

They shuddered against one another as if they were one person and then Eames collapsed, half on top of him. And they stayed like that in a frozen moment, sated and content together. Arthur felt as if he was glowing; like in that one moment anything was possible. Eames was panting against his skin, arm slung over his stomach without a care towards the drying come there. Eames had pulled himself out and he could feel the proof of the other man’s orgasm slowly trickling from his body. He should feel dirty and disgusting, begging for a shower, but he just felt so happy and...loved.

 

“I shouldn’t have made you say that,” Eames muttered against his skin, rough stubble sending tiny shivers through his body upon contact.

 

“Which?” he sighed, fighting off a sudden desire to sleep.

 

“The belonging and the forever thing,” Eames kissed his collarbone, the kiss feeling like an apology. “But I feel the same, you know. I’m yours,” he punctuated each word with a butterfly-light kiss to his skin, “Until the day I die...I’m yours.”

 

“Eames...” he spoke seriously, making sure he had the other man’s attention. “Whether or not we should have said it doesn’t matter because we both already knew it was true.”

 

“...Arthur?” Eames pulled away from his skin and used his arms to hold himself over Arthur.

 

“Yeah?” he looked up at those beautiful eyes, lit up by moonlight. They had gone out onto the balcony for one last look and had forgotten to close the curtains again before they left to the club. The whole bed was bathed in the soft moonlight.

 

“I love you.” His breath caught, his heart feeling like it would explode in both happiness and pain. Those bright eyes were staring down at him seriously even though they were softened by affection, and a small smile was playing on those lush lips. But Arthur had known this fact already; it was in Eames’s very being. Those sidelong glances his mark stole when he thought Arthur wasn’t looking, those unnecessary but incredibly caring touches, that selflessness, concern, and devotion. But hearing the words out loud struck him, Eames opening himself up fully.

 

They had not uttered the words before, knowing that it would only make things harder.  And even now as his heart bloomed with happiness and love, he felt his eyes burn with threatening tears. But he wanted to tell Eames – _needed_ to tell the man so that he would never be unsure of Arthur’s feelings. Before he lost his chance, “I love you too.”

 

Eames just stared down at him for a long moment, a happy yet pained smile twisting those lips. Finally those lips came down to meet his again. It was wonderful, but he hated how much it felt like goodbye. He pulled away after a few minutes, worried that he would lose control and do something embarrassing like cry. He wasn’t ready to say goodbye quite yet.

 

He slipped out from under Eames and pushed the man into the mattress. He lay down on his stomach beside his amused mark and began tracing the moon-kissed skin. As his fingers trailed over scars and other blemishes he would kiss them and quietly ask what they were from, wanting to continue learning about this man. Some of Eames’s answers surprised him, others angered him, and a select few made him smile. “Father threw a beer bottle at me...fight at school...fell off the swing set trying to impress someone...barbeque gone wrong...dog bit me when I was sneaking out...first time I drove a motorcycle...”

 

Eventually he ran out of skin and crawled back up the bed, curling up in Eames’s waiting arms. He did not want to fall asleep because it felt like wasting precious time, but he was exhausted despite his earlier naps. He allowed his eyes to close, breathing in Eames’s scent as his body relaxed. “Arthur...Arthur? Arthur!”

 

“Wha?” he mumbled against the man’s skin, the man’s voice sounding distant as he drifted in and out of sleep.

 

“Don’t go to sleep yet,” there was a catch in that voice, pleading.

 

“But ‘m so tired...” he uncharacteristically slurred his words, yawning.

 

“Please...I’m not ready for it to be tomorrow...” the man’s breath caught again, making him curious enough to sit up slightly. When he pushed himself up enough to see Eames’s face he felt his heart break. A few stray tears were tumbling down the man’s cheeks, face wet and shining in the moonlight. Eames looked away, clearly embarrassed with being caught crying, but he just slipped closer. He brushed Eames’s mussed hair away from his forehead, dropping soft kisses across the man’s face until he finally reached those trembling lips.  “You’re not saying anything,” Eames spoke quietly, voice shaky.

 

“Because there’s nothing to say,” he admitted, feeling a few tears escape his eyes and trail down his face. “I wish there was something I could say to make it better – make it hurt less. But tomorrow will come whether we want it to or not.”

 

Eames let out one solitary, heart wrenching sob, and pulled him down into a tight hug. He hugged the man back just as tightly, cradled against Eames’s chest. “I love you, Arthur,” Eames cried against his skin, tears brushing onto him.

 

“I love you too, Eames,” he repeated, knowing his tears were probably falling on Eames’s skin as well. He knew that they were both repeating the words in desperation, hoping that maybe it would fix things. He also knew that it would not solve anything. They were winding themselves up and as they got more tired they were getting more emotional. “Let’s go have a shower to calm down,” he eventually suggested, knowing they would need to have one before they left the hotel anyway.

 

“Okay,” Eames muttered but didn’t let go of him. He allowed the other man to continue hugging him for a while as the man slowly calmed down. He could tell that his mark had stopped crying when the man’s body stopped shaking. “...Okay,” Eames spoke again sometime later, finally letting go of him.

 

He pulled away slowly, pulling Eames behind him. His mark had taken care of him for the entire day while he was battling his migraine; now he had to take care of Eames. His body was a little stiff as he walked into the bathroom but his body held a good sort of tired. He turned on the shower, suddenly thankful that it was so large, and adjusted the temperature before stepping in, Eames stepping in behind him listlessly. “I thought you would have been overjoyed to get me in the shower naked,” he teased, trying to lighten the mood.

 

“Don’t get me wrong, love,” Eames gave him a tiny smile. “But it’s hard to be happy when I know this is one of the last times I’ll see you.”

 

The man’s eyes were red and a little puffy, face tearstained. He saw Eames’s eyes filling up with tears again, threatening to spill over, so he pulled him under the spray and kissed him. No matter how upset they both were, the combination of feeling their lips sliding together and the warm spray relaxed their bodies. He pulled away sometime later and they stepped out of the spray. “Just do what we did this whole week. Enjoy the moment; don’t think about tomorrow before you have to.”

 

Eames gave him a small smile, cheering up a little bit. Arthur pushed the thought of tomorrow and their goodbye to the back of his mind, following his own advice. Crying would not change things. It would just give them a headache and ruin one of their last memories.

 

After that they began washing each other’s bodies. There was some flirting and playfulness, but they were not aiming to continue it beyond touching. This was about intimacy and comfort rather than lust and passion. Fingers slid easily over skin, aided by soap, and warm water relaxed their tense muscles. They washed away the evidence of their lovemaking and then ended up kissing under the spray again. “One thing I almost forgot,” he suddenly whispered mischievously.

 

“What’s that, love?” Eames smiled against his lips, catching his playful tone.

 

“This,” he whispered before biting down on Eames’s neck lightly. Eames groaned and dropped his forehead on Arthur’s shoulder, hands holding him close. He nibbled the skin and then sucked carefully. He continued this process until a red, mouth shaped hickey was visible on the man’s neck.

 

“That’s not exactly a good way to _relax_ someone, you know,” Eames finally pulled away teasingly.

 

“I know, but I wasn’t walking out of this hotel with a hickey if you weren’t,” he smirked triumphantly. “Now everyone will know that someone managed to capture your heart, even if only for a week.” He knew that no matter how much they tried to hold onto their memories, no matter how strong their love, it would eventually fade with time and distance. He knew it was selfish but that thought hurt dreadfully.

 

Eames scoffed, turning off the shower as they both stepped out and grabbed towels, “And you’re the one who acts so bloody mature...” They towelled themselves dry and crawled back into bed, not bothering with sleeping clothes at this point. “It seems like such a waste to sleep,” Eames muttered as he lay down beside him under the covers.

 

“I know,” he agreed, even though he knew he would need to sleep for tomorrow. He had to cross multiple time zones and then impress the hell out of his employer. Because if he gave Eames up for this job and then didn’t get it...he wasn’t even sure what he would do. “But we have to.”

 

“I know,” Eames muttered, spooning against him. He was on his side facing away from the moonlight and Eames had his stomach pressed up against his back. One of the man’s arms wrapped around his stomach and he caught that hand in his own, twining their fingers together.

 

“Eames?” he spoke softly, yawning into his pillow and pressing back against that comforting warmth.

 

“Yeah, darling?” Eames yawned against the back of his neck, warm breath skirting over his skin.

 

“Don’t leave without saying goodbye,” he requested, trying to swallow past the lump in his throat.

 

“I won’t,” Eames promised with a kiss at the base of his neck. They grew silent and he wondered if his mark might have fallen asleep. But then Eames spoke again, “Arthur?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“I’m so glad I met you.” Eames nestled his face against his neck and that arm around him tightened.

 

“Me too,” he agreed. And it was true. His heart may be slowly shattering to pieces – so many pieces that he may never succeed in putting it back together again – but he would not trade this week of memories for anything in the world, “So glad.”


	12. Day Six: Eames

**Day Six**

** _Eames_ **

 

He was startled out of sleep by the sound of a door slamming. He blinked his eyes opened and realized that he was alone in the bed although the mattress and blankets in front of him were still warm from Arthur’s body. For a moment fear gripped him and he wondered if his mark and stormed out of the hotel room. But then he relaxed as he heard the toilet flush. He closed his eyes but grew concerned when the other man did not reappear right away. Instead he heard Arthur eventually venture out of the washroom and brush his teeth. “You alright, darling?” he asked his pillows when he heard padded footsteps.

 

“Of course, I’m fine,” he heard the man’s quick response as the mattress dipped by his feet. “What are we doing today?”

 

“Sausalito and the Muir Wood redwoods,” he stated, slipping out of bed. He was a little confused as to why Arthur had not slipped back into bed with him so he sat down beside the man. He wrapped an arm around Arthur’s waist loosely, holding him close as he woke up. But he grew more apprehensive when his mark remained perfectly still in his arms, the man as stiff as a ramrod. “We can grab a quick breakfast before catching the nine am ferry.”

 

“You pick where you want to go for breakfast,” Arthur spoke, voice sounding strained.

 

He began rubbing smooth circles on Arthur’s back, trying to relax the man in his arms. He was beginning to think that his mark was not as ‘fine’ as he proclaimed. “Are you sure you’re alright, love?”

 

“Yes,” Arthur snapped, “I just want to get going.”

 

If he had not thought something was wrong before, he was positive something was off now. He tried to not show his anxiety and concern as he continued rubbing that back soothingly. He watched as those dark eyes fluttered closed but the man’s body still remained stiff and uninviting. He eventually stopped when he realized he was having no effect, “Alright. I’ll just get changed and we’ll get going.”

 

He considered for the briefest moment the idea of kissing Arthur then and there, but the memory of his dream stopped him. He knew it had been a projection, but what if Arthur felt the same way and did not want to bring kissing into the equation? Kissing certainly would complicate matters, especially considering the fact that he knew he would never want to stop once he started.

 

Instead, he stood up and dropped a quick kiss to Arthur’s forehead, drawing away when the man flinched at the touch. He began fretting about what could be wrong and wondered briefly if pressing the matter would work. But he decided against it and grabbed his key card to go get dressed. There was no point screwing things up more than he had apparently already done.

 

Once he was back in his own room he took a moment to throw his key card on the dresser and swear quietly. What had he done? Had Arthur thought about the choice for them to mutually split again and decided that he didn’t want to spend any more time with Eames now that they had an expiration date? Last night had Arthur agreed to split just because he had made the decision first? Did Arthur hate him now?

 

His mind ran with distressing thoughts as he got dressed for the day, wondering if Arthur would even agree to continue sightseeing with him. Maybe they would have breakfast and then his mark would just cut things off right there. His stomach clenched painfully at the thought and he was suddenly a lot less interested in food.

 

As he finished getting dressed and headed back to Arthur’s room, he hoped that he had just misread the man. Maybe he was always a little distant and irritable when he first woke up; it was not like Eames had woken up beside him before. That thought brought a little burst of happiness at the memory of falling asleep with Arthur pressed up against him, in his arms. Feeling invigorated, he knocked on the door and waited for his mark to arrive. When Arthur did step out of his room, Eames felt one eyebrow rise at the fact that Arthur had not slicked back his hair and had chosen very comfortable attire. He chose not to comment though as they headed into the elevator, “I figured it would be nice to go to that bistro one last time,” he suggested hesitantly.

 

“Okay,” Arthur replied shortly, pulling his sunglasses on before they stepped out of the elevator and across the street.

 

When they walked into the bistro, Arthur in the lead, his mark suddenly stopped mid-step and Eames nearly stumbled into him. He heard Arthur take a deep breath before walking towards their usual booth, sitting down purposefully. He watched the man’s stiff movements - everything looking forced - and he noticed the man’s face. Those eyes looked dull and that skin looked paler than usual, “I hate to sound like a broken record, pet. But are you sure you’re alright? You look a little pale...”

 

“I’m fine!” Arthur yelled, a few other customers glancing over at their table in surprise before returning to their conversations. He pulled away as if he had been slapped; he had only been trying to help. It felt as if every barrier he had slowly been tearing away this week had suddenly reappeared, stronger than ever. “I’m just not very hungry,” his mark added quietly.

 

“We can go back to the hotel--” he tried to suggest, looking for any chance to return to Arthur’s good graces.

 

“Just eat your breakfast,” Arthur slumped down in his booth, clearly agitated. But his next word sounded a little calmer, as if he realized he was being distant and snappish, “Please.”

 

He fell silent as they both glanced over their menus, feeling lost but trying to not show it. This was their last day to spend together and somehow he had angered or offended Arthur. He wanted to fix it but he had no clue what the underlying issue was. He saw his mark flinch when the waitress came over to order and he paid close attention to Arthur’s mannerisms to try to understand what was going on.

 

Arthur had not ordered much food, nor was it his regular choices. He saw the man lean on one hand and close his eyes, looking exhausted. Had his mark not slept well? Maybe he was tired. But that did not seem to cover it because the man’s eyebrows were furrowed in what looked like pain and Arthur’s jaw was clenched in what looked like determination. There was clearly something else hidden beneath Arthur’s attitude, but he did not know what it was.

 

He tried to start a few conversations to try and diagnose the issue but his companion was uncooperative, merely grunted occasionally to prove he was listening. Eventually Eames was forced to give up and eat in silence as their food arrived. He ate as quickly as he could manage, knowing at the very least that Arthur was not enjoying their time in the bistro. He watched the other man out of the corner if his eye, noting that Arthur barely managed the toast, let alone the fruit.

 

Finally he was finished and they left the bistro quickly. The sidewalks were relatively crowded as they made their way towards the main ferry building. Unexpectedly he felt fingers brush against his own, a warm hand slipping into the grasp of his own. He looked down in astonishment as he saw Arthur’s hand cradled in his own, swinging between them slightly as they continued walking.

 

He knew something was still bothering Arthur, but he realized that this meant it was not something that Eames had done. The very fact that Arthur was showing affection in public this obviously was earth-shattering. He felt a relieved grin take over his face as he squeezed those fingers affectionately with his own. He still wanted to know what was wrong with Arthur, wanting to help, but he felt as if a huge weight had been taken off his mind now that he knew Arthur’s feelings had not changed for him during the night.

 

Eames was even more pleased when Arthur continued holding his hand all the way to the ticket booth and onto the ferry, having expected the man to pull his hand away after a short gesture. “Let’s get a good view so we can see the city as we pull out,” he suggested as they headed up to the second story of the boat where more rows of seats could be found.

 

He figured that the canopy over their seats would block the majority of the wind and, at first, it seemed to do just that. But then as they pulled further from the shore and out into the open water, the wind began to billow around them, hitting them at every angle. He saw Arthur pull his hood up and duck his head away from the wind but figured he was just a little chilled. Except a few seconds later Arthur turned and buried his head against Eames’s chest to hide from the wind.

 

He would have thought it was a nice position except for the fact that his mark’s body was tense and trembling in his grasp as he brought his arms around the man to keep him warm. “Eames, can we move inside?” When he heard Arthur yell above the wind and flinch at the noise he immediately stood up, with Arthur still in his arms, and began leading him down the stairs.

 

His concern doubled when Arthur took his offered hand as a lead down the stairs and into the ferry’s main cabin. Public affection was one thing, but showing weakness and a need for assistance in front of strangers, let alone Eames? He never thought he’d see the day. There had to be something seriously wrong. There were no two seats available together so he sat Arthur down on the nearest one he could find, leaning against the wall beside him. “It’s a thirty minute ride...” Arthur began, sounding guilty.

 

“Hush,” he cut the man’s protests off immediately, watching Arthur’s face. He couldn’t see those expressive brown eyes beneath the reflective lenses of the sunglasses, but he could definitely read the telltale signs of discomfort and pain in the man’s face and body. He wondered quickly if Arthur was having another headache, posture similar to that of the first night he had infiltrated his mark’s room.

 

He was pretty sure Arthur had closed his eyes at Eames’s word, allowing his head to droop a bit. Wanting to help in any way he could, he began running his fingers through that soft hair. He saw Arthur tense up under the touch at first, making Eames more sure of his conclusion that the man had a headache. But as he carefully began brushing through those soft strands of hair he watched his mark’s shoulders relax, body going lax. It was a thirty minute ride, as Arthur had earlier protested, and he eventually felt his arm begin to burn with tiredness as he kept it aloft and moving. He found himself unwilling to cease his actions though, pleased that he had found some small way of helping Arthur through...whatever this was.

 

As the ferry pulled up against the Sausalito pier, Arthur stood up and he took that soft hand in his own once again, thrilled that he was not rejected from the public display. His mark trailed along behind him as they exited the ferry, navigating through the swarm of other tourists. “I was originally thinking we could spend some time walking around Sausalito, but now I think it would be better to catch the bus up to the redwoods directly,” he mentioned as they split off from the horde of people.

 

“We can do whatever you want to do. I told you that I’m fine,” Arthur pressed, voice a little calmer even though he still sounded insistent.

 

He knew Arthur would not take kindly to his suggestion if he knew it was out of concern for his mark, so he decided a little white lie would not hurt the situation. “I didn’t suggest this because I thought you weren’t. But Sausalito is mainly for food and shopping, and I’m not really in the mood for either right now. So are redwoods alright with you?”

 

“Yeah,” Arthur nodded slightly, just as Eames was hoping he would. He had learned enough about his mark in this one week to know that Arthur needed to feel in charge. But he had also learned that Arthur would make sure Eames was not entirely opposed to an idea before he would agree. It was a finicky balance, but he appreciated those particular habits that his mark possessed.

 

He had already searched up the information on how to get to the Muir Woods National Park, so they bought their ticket and were able to immediately board the direct coach to the redwoods. They found two seats together and he sat down by the window since Arthur immediately excused himself to the tiny bathroom at the back of the bus. The coach was a little under half full with other people that had just gotten off the ferry, but it was peacefully quiet as everyone maintained hushed conversations while they watched the passing scenery.

 

He continued watching the scenery, enjoying the view of the small towns built all the way up the steep inclines of the hills around the highway. Arthur returned quickly and sat down beside him, watching through the window as well. The bus had a few stops along the way, the bus slowly filling up around them, and eventually he felt Arthur lean against him and rest his head on his shoulder. The man’s full weight was against him, making him think that Arthur must be exhausted; it felt as if Arthur was going to fall unconscious at any moment.

 

He felt a wave of concerned fondness fill him for Arthur as the man willingly showed his weakness in order to draw comfort from him – trusting Eames to help when he needed it. He raised his right arm, the one that was not trapped under Arthur’s weight, and cupped the far side of Arthur’s face, unwilling to shift his weight and jostle the man. He skimmed his thumb along the soft skin of the man’s cheek and felt a warm glow when Arthur leaned into the touch; it made him feel that despite their poor morning, the day was still salvageable.

 

Arthur pulled away after a long period of time in that position and they began watching the passing scenery again. “Bloody hell,” he whispered nervously as he looked out the window to be met with the view of a sharp drop-off along the edge of the twisting road; why was a bus this large weaving along a road like this at such a quick pace? This was more terrifying than a roller coaster because they were not attached to a track; if the bus tipped over it was gone.

 

They did make it to the bottom of the hill in the end; but when he glanced over at Arthur, considering whether or not he should kiss the man out of gratitude that they had both survived, Arthur looked just as pale as he probably was. They were both silent for a few moments as the bus continued on and a line of cars began to appear on both sides of the road, nearly tipping over into the ravines. “I guess we made a good choice to get someone else to drive us here.”

 

“No kidding,” he agreed, snorting at the ridiculousness of the parking here. If he had to park that far away from his goal he would probably just turn around and go home. He was grateful when they finally made it to the actual parking lot, feeling a little cramped and wanting to get some fresh air. They exited the coach along with the other tourists and snagged a trail map before disappearing into the forest of redwoods. But before they even passed the welcome sign they tried to decide what trail to take depending on ferry times. “The ferries are relatively spread out so our options from Sausalito to San Francisco are noon, which is pointless, three thirty, or five forty five. I was thinking the three thirty might be good so we can relax before we go dancing.”

 

“Sounds good,” Arthur replied quickly. He noted that the man sounded less than enthusiastic about the idea of dancing and wondered if Arthur was still against the idea. He knew that his mark would go dancing no matter what because Eames had fulfilled his part of the bargain, but he was not all that interested in forcing Arthur into doing something he didn’t want to do.

 

He decided to leave that discussion for later though, when they were back at the hotel so they could enjoy the national park while they were there. “Alright, so we’ll have to be back here for the two thirty bus. Or two o’clock if we want to grab some food beforehand...” he began tilting the map back and forth, trying to match up North.

 

“Eames, map skills will never be your strong point,” Arthur chided him as the map was yanked from his hands.

 

“I could surprise you, darling,” he crossed his arms defiantly, smirking even though Arthur’s statement was entirely true.

 

“Yes, well I don’t want to be surprised by finding myself in a different state so I think I’ll be in control of the map,” his mark ignored him to orient the map and then begin studying the different trails.

 

“Whatever you say, oh Great One,” he gave a courteous bow, sarcasm dripping from his words. Arthur seemed to be doing much better than when they had woken up this morning, but he was still remaining rather passive about everything. He was hoping that a little joking might cheer him up and he was right; as they began walking into the park he saw Arthur’s mouth twitch upwards into a smile. He quickly stepped in front of his mark’s intended path and grinned, “Now there’s the smile I love.” He did not feel embarrassed to show how much he had missed that smile.

 

He was even more pleased with his decision to admit this fact because Arthur stopped in his tracks and his smile began to grow.  Arthur stepped closer to him, smile still in place, and planted a quick kiss on the edge of his lips. Eames felt his lips tingle in anticipation as he wound an arm around that narrow waist to pull his mark closer. Was this a sign from Arthur that he was willing to bring kissing into their relationship despite the complications? He eagerly turned his head, trying to catch those lips in a full kiss, but he felt Arthur pull away teasingly, “Come on. I’d like to actually _see_ some redwoods while we’re here.”

 

He released his hold reluctantly, but was not disappointed. He saw the playful smirk on those lips, knowing that Arthur was just being difficult. He was beginning to think that Arthur really wasn’t against the idea of kissing – though he was still planning on allowing his mark to make the first move to be safe. “Very well, my love,” he maintained his sarcastic but chipper voice, “Lead on!”

 

They chose a longer trail through the redwoods, weaving their way around different types of scenery. The air was damp in the shade but it smelt wonderfully refreshing with all of the vegetation around them. At one point he veered off to the side of the path where a redwood was encroaching on the designated pathway. He spread his arms wide and hugged the base of the tree; his reach did not even making it a quarter of the way. He called Arthur over to hug the tree beside him and even with their fingertips touching they still didn’t make it a quarter of the way around the tree. It was incredible.

 

They were near the end of one end of their trail when Arthur pulled him over to a bench and sat them down, demanding silence. Curious, he watched as Arthur closed his eyes and began breathing deeply. While the man was occupied with whatever he was doing, Eames took the opportunity to slide his gaze over that form to memorize everything. He had been studying this man for nearly a week and he was quite confident that he could recreate his persona if asked. Now, he was studying the man for personal reasons; if he was going to have to say goodbye to this man tomorrow, he wanted every memory to be crystal clear.

 

He saw that dark hair ruffled by the wind from the ferry and his own fingers running through them soothingly; he smiled lightly when he realized that Arthur had never bothered to fix it after that. He watched eyelids twitch as his mark kept his eyes closed and nostrils flare as the man took in the smells of the national park. Those shoulders were relaxed and his hands rested calmly in his lap. He could also smell his mark, the refreshing smell of the forest mixing with the hotel’s shampoo splendidly. Arthur looked utterly at peace in that moment, surrounded by centuries-old trees, and he looked gorgeous in the small beam of sunlight that was lighting up their clearing beside them.

 

Eames noticed Arthur turning towards him slightly, eyes still closed, so he turned his attention forward and dropped his eyes closed. He felt the back of his neck tingle as those searching brown eyes came to rest on him. After so many years of studying and watching people, he had a very keen sense of when someone was watching him in return. He allowed the gaze for a few moments and then asked smugly, “Like what you see?”

 

“What?” Arthur’s voice sounded startled, guilty.

 

“You’re staring at me,” he stated calmly, keeping his eyes firmly closed.

 

“I am not,” he could hear the nervous defiance of someone trying to talk their way out of getting caught in the act.

 

“Yes you are, I can tell,” he felt smug, hearing the busy silence of a living forest as Arthur apparently struggled for some retort. He decided to save the man the humiliation and blinked his eyes open, sending him a wink, “It’s alright. I was staring at you for a while earlier.”

 

Arthur scoffed haughtily and stood from the bench, “I wasn’t staring.”

 

He, of course, continued arguing the point as he tried to force Arthur into admitting he had been staring at Eames. Even though he knew it was a dangerous cycle to start, both of them far too stubborn to break down, it was enjoyable to argue good-naturedly back and forth as they began down the trail towards the entrance of the park. He was one step behind his mark when they walked into a large patch of sunlight.

 

Arthur had been mid-sentence when his voice suddenly cut off. He nearly stumbled into his mark’s back as the man stopped and stood still, bringing his hands to hold his head as if trying to block out a loud noise. “Arthur?” he asked hesitantly, feeling a strange flash of dread pass through him. This dread turned to absolute panic when Arthur did not answer him and instead began to topple backwards.

 

He managed to catch Arthur in his arms – barely – because he had been standing so close to him and he awkwardly managed to work them both to the ground. Arthur was dead weight in his arms, completely unconscious, and he felt his heart rate begin to pick up. “Arthur? Can you hear me? Oh god, please be okay...” he began muttering, half to himself and half to his unconscious mark. He crossed his legs quickly and carefully rested Arthur’s head in his lap while his body lay along the path; he felt sick with panic as the man’s head lolled to one side loosely at the movement, cheek resting against his jeans.

 

Eames had known there was something wrong, ever since he had first woken up. He did not know exactly what it was that was wrong, but he had _known_ that something was bothering Arthur. So why had he not _asked_? Why had ne not _done something_ to help? He had been so relieved to realize that it was not something he himself had done that he had not pressed the matter, hoping and assuming that things would get better. And now there was something _seriously_ wrong.

 

He felt guilt eat at him, wondering if he could have kept this from happening if he had pressed the matter or insisted they stay at the hotel. He felt a lump in his throat and his eyes begin to burn as he begged Arthur to wake up, close to tears. He was overwhelmed by a sense of helplessness, knowing they were at least twenty minutes away from any sort of help. What if Arthur needed to get to a hospital? What if Arthur _died_? Eames knew he was becoming a little irrational but he was plagued by the idea of Arthur not being okay. That thought physically hurt him, made him feel ill, and he wondered how long it would take him after they were forced to split for him to not feel a clench in his heart over Arthur’s wellbeing. How could he leave this man?

 

He was still pleading for Arthur to wake up, to talk, as he ran his fingers through that soft hair. He hoped that maybe the soothing action would help his mark once again. Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, Arthur shifted his head an inch, “’m okay...”

 

“Okay? _Okay_? You are _not_ okay! You just fainted!” he retorted immediately, his agitation over Arthur’s inability to understand the seriousness of the situation wiped out by his shaky relief. “Worried me halfway to hell...” he admitted quietly, still pulling his fingers through that hair. He couldn’t really see Arthur’s eyes through the reflective lenses but he knew his mark was staring up at him with his head tilted the way it was. They were both silent for a moment and then Arthur let out a pitiful little mewl that seemed laced with pain and embarrassment. “Shh, it’s alright, darling. You’re going to be fine,” he assured softly, reassuring himself as much as the other man. He felt like crying, he was filled with such a sense of gratitude to the world for Arthur waking up. “Just tell me what’s wrong.”

 

“Migraine,” Arthur groaned and Eames saw the man clench his fists together in pain.

 

“Oh _love_,” he cooed, “I wish you had told me sooner.”

 

Arthur turned his head away from the sun, his aversion to the sunlight suddenly making a lot of sense. He nestled closer to Eames’s leg, which couldn’t be that comfortable, before muttering, “I didn’t want to waste our last day.”

 

He felt a wave of affection as well as exasperation wash over him and he suddenly felt like laughing. He felt giddy with his relief, “You’re such a selfless idiot sometimes, pet.” He made a tsking sound to annoy his mark lightly before turning serious again, “I would have been more than content to bring you food and watch movies in bed.”

 

They stayed there in silence for a few moments, surrounded by the quiet forest. He wanted to kiss Arthur, and hold him close, and scold him, and then kiss him some more. But he remained still until the other man shifted slightly again, “I think I’m okay to get back to the cafe now. Just pass me my wallet.”

 

“You aren’t moving,” he stated immediately, worried that any movement could spike the man’s migraine back to life. He did, however, carefully lean over Arthur’s prone form to reach into his pocket to pull out his wallet.

 

He watched as the man pulled out a painkiller and swallowed it quickly. “We’re twenty minutes away, Eames. We can’t just stay here until a park ranger wanders by.”

 

When his mark began trying to sit up he had no choice but to help, trying to do anything he could to help the situation. But he made sure that his stance on the idea of Arthur moving was abundantly clear, “I don’t approve of this plan at all.”

 

Once they were both back on their feet, Arthur held onto his shoulder while he regained his balance. Arthur began walking down the pathway and he trailed behind, feeling agitated and useless. He had never experienced a migraine before but his mother and grandmother had often been plagued by them when he was younger. Now that he knew the exact cause for that tense pain on that soft face he couldn’t believe he hadn’t guessed sooner. It was so familiar it made him swallow; he had witnessed the pain a migraine caused even if he had not experienced it. It was miserable.

 

“The only way I’m going to get rid of this is sleep, darkness, and food so I need to get back to civilization,” Arthur spoke up during their walk, trying to justify his plan to walk back to the main entrance of the park.

 

“And you skipped breakfast?” he asked in exasperation, sighing. “Can I at least carry you?” he asked, honestly wondering if that might help the man relax his eyes a bit from the sunlight streaming through the leaves of the trees. Of course, it was also a selfish request since he just wanted to feel Arthur in his arms again.

 

“Absolutely not,” his mark did not even take a moment to pause and consider his offer.

 

He rolled his eyes but smiled, knowing before Arthur spoke that his suggestion would be rejected. No matter how badly the man was feeling, or how willing he was to momentarily let his guard down around Eames, he would _not_ approve of being carried. But they eventually made it back to the main entrance, much slower than he would have liked, and he led Arthur over to a bench blanketed in shade. “You lie down there and relax; it’ll be quieter here than at the cafe with tons of little kids. Is there anything you want in particular?”

 

“Water,” Arthur requested as he slowly lay down on the bench. Eames was honestly a little surprised that the man was willing to show such a moment of weakness in public; Arthur must be in agony, “And something with grain.”

 

“Alright, sit tight,” he leaned over the now sprawled out form and gave Arthur a chaste kiss on his forehead. He could see Arthur watching him when he pulled away, sunlight no longer reflecting off the lenses of the sunglasses. He gave a tiny smile before rushing off to the cafe.

 

He was glad that he had suggested for Arthur to stay on the bench a little ways away from the cafeteria the moment he reached the end of the line. There were a huge number of kids running around between the national park museum and the cafe, parents and teachers failing to maintain control. He winced as a few kids screamed excitedly, wondering if he would develop a headache of his own in the chaos.

 

It took a while for him to get to the front of the line since it was still around the traditional lunch time. But when he did he bought two bottles of water and two boxes of spaghetti, hoping it would suit his mark. He struggled to maintain his patience as the cooks _slowly_ prepared and packaged the food, _slowly_ sending him down the line towards the cashier. It’s not like he wanted Arthur to get worse just because he was dehydrated and waiting for some bloody food!

 

Finally he was handed his purchases and he haphazardly balanced them in his arms as he dashed back out of the cafe and down the path towards the solitary bench he had parked his mark on. He heard Arthur’s voice speak softly as he approached, slowing down as he approached to try and make himself look a little less ridiculous about worrying. “Eames, did you really mean that when you said you wouldn’t have minded staying at the hotel? Or were you just trying to make me feel better?”

 

He raised an eyebrow, standing beside the man who was still lying down and staring up at him. “Why would I mind, darling?” Honestly, for being such an intelligent man, Arthur could really be dense sometimes. “I would be happy doing anything as long as it was with you. And besides,” he cut himself off as Arthur pulled his lunch from his arms and they both sat down on the bench, “I have to get a lifetime of TLC out of my system in one day.”

 

And getting a lifetime of TLC out in one day for this man seemed to be more challenging than he had originally thought. Eames was not normally the caring, doting individual; ever since he had been young he had been forced to look out for himself before anyone else. His own wellbeing was primary over all others, and he had never come across anyone who pulled his attention away to make himself secondary. He knew Arthur was fully capable of taking care of himself, but as he watched his mark faint and topple backwards he had, for just one moment, felt his own heart freeze in fear. He was still a little disoriented by the sudden realization that Arthur’s wellbeing was quickly becoming his primary focus. “TLC?”

 

“Tender loving care,” he answered with a small smirk, reusing an acronym his mother had been fond of. “I hope the spaghetti is alright,” he admitted, taking a quick bite of his own to see how it tasted. Arthur tried a bite of his own and seemed to approve so they ate in silence, both of them quickly realizing how hungry they had been with all of the fresh air, walking and emotional strain. While they were eating he remembered that after today he would no longer be around to take care of Arthur and make sure he remembered to consider his own wellbeing. He would feel so much better of he knew that there would be someone to remind his mark that he was important too. “I just wish you had told me, love. You need to think about yourself sometimes.”

 

“I didn’t want to worry you,” Arthur responded, though it looked more like he was apologizing to his pasta than to Eames.

 

“I’m going to worry no matter what,” he laughed humourlessly, “But at least I can help you through it now...” _while I’m still here_. Out of nowhere, Arthur was suddenly beside him on the bench and pressed up against his side.  He felt those soft lips land on his own lips, the spices in the spaghetti sauce turning it into a more memorable kiss than it would have already been. He smiled in elation at the feel but did not respond in return, knowing that if he started kissing his mark he would never be able to stop.

 

Arthur pulled away a few long moments later, suddenly looking hurt and Eames clarified quickly, “Don’t misunderstand, love. If I could have my way with you, you’d be pinned to this bench and calling my name _right_ now.” He made sure to whisper against the man’s ear, feeling a tingling sensation through his own body at the mere thought. “But that wouldn’t help your headache...and there is also a group of school children watching us right now.”

 

He pulled away and continued with his pasta, trying to look more innocent than his mind actually was at that moment. He watched an adorably innocent blush taint those cheeks as Arthur distracted himself with his own lunch. They finished quickly and headed towards the parking lot to line up for the bus back to Sausalito. And then a question popped out of Arthur that he had never expected to hear, “What about dancing tonight?”

 

He raised an eyebrow, having assumed that Arthur would prefer to remain at the hotel tonight as soon as he realized what was wrong with his mark. Arthur had not truly wanted to go dancing in the first place, and loud music would certainly not help his situation. “I figured you’d want to skip out with you crappy you’re feeling.”

 

“I want to go.”

 

He wanted to roll his eyes at the man’s resolution. Why could he not have wanted to go dancing this badly the day before when he would have been well enough to enjoy it? “Only if you’re feeling better, darling,” he demanded, deciding that he was allowed his own ultimatum if Arthur had made him go to a symphony.

 

Arthur blinked at him in obvious confusion for a moment before they began climbing onto the bus that had just pulled up. “Sometimes I don’t understand you at all.”

 

He waved Arthur to the window seat and sat down beside him as the bus filled up fully. Once they were both comfortable and the rest of the passengers were busy with their own conversations he turned to his mark, “I would rather leave you knowing you were healthy and feeling better than leave with an image of you dancing in my head.” He swallowed down the distress that the thought of leaving _at all_ caused and leaned forward, suddenly needing to feel those lips tilted against his own again.

 

He held Arthur’s head still, not wanting to jostle him as the other man pressed close to him. He felt those delicate fingers twine in his hair, holding his lips close. That mouth was so..._addicting_. It was extremely difficult to finally pull away, especially when Arthur’s lips trailed his own as he attempted to put distance between them. “You should sleep on our way back. It’ll help your migraine,” he suggested once he had caught his breath, seeing Arthur’s frustrated and hurt look again at the rejection.

 

Arthur sent him a vicious glare and then his gaze softened, “Just make sure you wake me up when we need to get off for the ferry.”

 

He watched as the other man adjusted his sunglasses and yanked his hood to cover his head more before leaning towards him. He lifted his arm without complaint to allow Arthur to snuggle against his side and dropped his arm securely around those shoulders. “It’s not like I’m going to leave you sleeping on here when we arrive in Sausalito,” he rolled his eyes and laughed.

 

“I was more concerned with you carrying me to the ferry yourself,” Arthur explained, shifting around until he found a suitable position against him.

 

Eames felt that hair tickling his neck slightly but didn’t really mind. Arthur’s remark had brought a mischievous smile to his face though, considering the thought of having an actual excuse for carrying his mark, “Don’t tempt me.” Arthur did not respond and he realized that his mark had already fallen asleep, tucked against him adorably. He decided to rest his head on top of Arthur’s carefully and allow his own eyes to slide shut; he felt utterly exhausted from the worry and stress he had been experiencing over the other man’s wellbeing for the day.

 

He did not fall asleep, knowing that someone had to stay awake to know when they had arrived at their stop, but he quickly fell into a cosy haze of warmth and fondness. He only half heard the coach driver call out the ferry dock stop and blearily pulled himself back into a seated position. “Arthur...Arthur..._Arthur_...” he whispered against the man’s ear, not wanting to jolt that migraine back into existence, “Did you die or something? Arthur!” His mark remained motionless for a moment before he gave a tiny grunt that sounded more like a mewled yawn and snuggled closer against him. He felt a warm sense of affection but knew he had to try again, “No, _Arthur_, we’re at the ferry docks. You have to get up unless you want me to carry you.”

 

“’m awake!” Arthur sat bolt upright, swearing quietly and cradling his head in his hands at the sudden movement. Eames felt sympathetic but dragged Arthur into a standing position and off the bus anyway, hearing the ferry’s last bell ringing.

 

“There’s a two-person bench,” he noticed an empty bench tucked against a wall and a window as they slipped in past the ferry’s closing doors. He began pulling Arthur over to the bench, even as his mark began muttering a mantra that promised nausea and sickness under his breath. “Don’t focus on the nausea or the pain, love,” he suggested, positioning himself on the bench so that he could hold Arthur while the man lay down.

 

“There’s not much else to focus on,” Arthur mumbled quietly as he allowed Eames to pull him down onto the bench. He saw that Arthur was panting and shaky, sickly pale and honestly looking like he was about to throw up on the floor. Remembering what his mother did whenever he had been sick, he made sure that his mark was in a comfortable position on the bench before beginning to rub large circles on Arthur’s back. He knew how calming it could be as well as how quickly it could draw your attention away from less pleasant sensations.

 

He continued his movements as he felt the ferry bob, waves lapping at the side of the boat as they pushed off from the docks. A short time later Arthur, who still looked dangerously pale, lay back against him. The man’s head rolled to the side to rest under his chin, but it was not the same movement as that unconscious lolling that had caused his heart to clench. “This is so embarrassing,” he heard a quiet voice speak into his chest, muffled by the conversations around them.

 

He slid a protective arm around Arthur to hold him in place as the boat rocked a little more in the open water. Considering how confident and self-assured his mark had appeared their first few days together, he was quite surprised with how shy Arthur was suddenly being. But he wanted his companion to relax, not to get more uptight and embarrassed so he laughed, trying to make it seem like a silly thing to worry about. “Whatever you need right now, darling. Screw the rest.”

 

He wasn’t sure if the man heard him or not because he quickly realized that Arthur’s breath had evened out, causing Eames’s hand to rise and fall at a slow, even pace. He lazily people-watched for the rest of the ferry ride. Once in a while other tourists riding the ferry would send them a judging or disapproving look but he would simply hold their gaze until they looked away, too nervous to glance over again. He was a little annoyed that they could not mind their own business but was too unwilling to disturb Arthur to cause a scene.

 

The rest of the ferry ride was dull so he was thankful when Arthur seemed to slowly wake up as the landing bell was rung at the back of the ferry. “Are we there already?” the question was mumbled into his sweater, making it difficult to hear.

 

He dropped a soft kiss to the top of that head, working around the awkward angle, “You slept the whole way. How are you feeling?”

 

Arthur finally stood up, allowing him to get up as well and stretch. He had not realized how stiff he had become against the cold wood of the bench until he finally got the opportunity to move around again, muscles tingling. “Much better. My head is still throbbing and I’m considering the idea of destroying the sun...but it doesn’t feel like my head is going to split open.”

 

He was pleased to hear that his suggestion had helped improve the situation, though he would be happier if the migraine was gone entirely. But he was feeling upbeat, enjoying the day they had had despite the setbacks, and felt like teasing his mark a bit. “If anyone could find a way to destroy the sun it would be you pet, so I say this honestly: please don’t destroy the sun.”

 

“No promises,” Arthur retorted in amusement, clearly in a better mood than before.

 

He enjoyed the warmth of the sun as they walked back to their hotel, hoping the sunlight would not cause Arthur to start his decline again. He still really wanted to see the other man attempt to dance if he was feeling better, knowing that it would be a precious memory for him to laugh over in the years to come. Wanting to get the chance, he made a suggestion as they rode the elevator up to the fifteenth floor, “Well how about we get rid of that headache completely, then? I’m sure the human race will thank me for helping it continue to another generation.”

 

“I’m tired of sleeping,” Arthur did the closest thing he’d probably allow himself to get to whining, “I’m well enough to enjoy the rest of the day.”

 

“Do you want to go dancing?” he trailed into his mark’s room without waiting for an invitation once the man got the door open, assuming that at this point he was welcome.

 

“Yes,” Arthur sent him a defiant glare as he dropped his wallet and key card on the dresser.

 

“Then you need to sleep. Hey,” he pointed a finger at his mark when he saw Arthur’s expression, on the verge of protest, “Don’t argue with me. You had your ultimatum and now I have mine. Besides...” he forcefully sat his companion down on the edge of the bed with a smirk before heading over to the windows to close the curtains, “No matter now ‘okay’ you say you are, there’s no point going to a place with loud music when you have a headache.”

 

When he returned to the edge of the bed he saw that Arthur was already under the covers despite his arguments. The next moment he received a warm sweater thrown at his face and he burst out laughing, dropping it to the floor before he crawled up onto the bed, “Feeling playful are we?”

 

“No,” Arthur seemed to breathe, eyes looking a little glazed.

 

That look reminded him of how the projection of Arthur had stared down at him during the dream and he positioned himself on top of the man’s body, knees on either side of narrow hips and hands holding his weight up. “You just like to pretend that you’re this perfect...” he dropped a kiss to the man’s collarbone, pushing his shirt out of the way slightly, “poised...” a kiss to that enticing neck, “professional guy who does no wrong.” He caught those lips quickly before smirking and rolling off the man to lie on the bed beside him, “But you are human somewhere under that mask, darling. You like to have fun and be immature sometimes too.”

 

“Depends on who I’m with,” Arthur confessed to him quietly as he began drawing patterns on his arm above the covers. There was a moment of silence between them, “You’re not exactly who you pretend to be either, you know.”

 

“What do you mean?” he smiled as he leaned closer, Arthur’s all-knowing tone of voice catching his interest. He knew that his mark had learned a lot about him during this week, far more than he should have allowed, but he was curious about how much Arthur actually thought he knew. After all, Eames was an actor – that’s what he did – so how much truth could Arthur really pull from him?

 

“Well,” Arthur cuddled up against him so that only the duvet was separating them, “Even though I don’t know exactly what you do it’s clear that you’re a good actor. You act so carefree and happy all the time but it seems like you have an unlimited supply of masks to wear in public. I get from what you’ve told me of your past that it’s hard for you to trust people. But you’re not all British charm, flirting and cheer like you pretend. There’s a part of you that’s hidden away...and I think you’re waiting for someone brave to step close enough and know you fully.”

 

He was shocked into silence for a moment, seeing Arthur watching him with just a short distance between them. No matter how much he had told his mark during this week, or how much of his true self he had allowed the man to see, he was still astounded by Arthur’s small speech. The man had pulled apart every layer he had placed around himself as a barrier to the outside world, seeing his true self buried far below. He had to fight down his momentary terror – something he usually experienced when someone got too close. He had gotten into the habit of keeping everyone at a distance after his childhood, not trusting anyone to get close enough and not hurt him. And when he thought about it, Arthur had gotten too close and was going to hurt him tomorrow when they split. But he was going to hurt Arthur just as badly.

 

He felt a sudden undeniable sense of love fill him up for the man beside him, thankful that Arthur had put in the effort to truly get to know him for who he was rather than give up and fall for his masks. In that moment it didn’t matter that tonight was their last night together, that tomorrow they would say goodbye forever; right now he just wanted to prove and share the adoration inside of him.

 

He shifted and positioned himself overtop of Arthur, “Well I guess I don’t have to wait anymore,” he gave a tiny, grateful smile before he leaned down and caught those soft lips. Arthur pulled away quickly and he worried that he had hurt the man, but after a quick gasp of breath his head was being pulled back down against those lips. He did not hold back this time, hoping that the other man’s headache was faded enough to not cause him distress as he lowered his weight on top of that warm body. Once his hands were more or less free he began skimming them over every inch of skin he could find, pressing himself closer.

 

Their lips moved together with a surprising familiarity, as if they had been doing this forever. He hesitantly brushed the tip of his tongue against Arthur’s lips, seeking entrance. That warm mouth opened for him and he delved in, exploring, but then he heard Arthur groan beneath him. He felt a spark of arousal flash through him at the sound but he pulled away, worried he had gone too far or gotten too physical. “I’m sorry; are you alright?”

 

“What...?” He watched as Arthur panted, pupils dark and blown wide, “That was _not_ a groan of pain.”

 

“Oh...” realization hit him and he forced himself not to laugh, slipping off the bed carefully, “Well we should probably stop now before we get...excited.” Not that he wasn’t halfway there already.

 

“You really expect me to sleep after _that_?” Arthur grumbled, still tucked carefully under the sheets.

 

“I absolutely do,” he could no longer hold in his laugh at the expression on Arthur’s face, not that he could blame him; he doubted he’d be able to sleep at this very moment either. He placed a quick kiss on his mark’s forehead in apology for riling him up before stepping over to the dresser, “Get some rest and I’ll get some food ordered for when you wake up. Do you mind if I borrow your key?”

 

“You are a torturous bastard, you know that?” Arthur waved him away and he watched in amusement as the man buried himself in the pillows sullenly. He knew this was not a side of his mark that Arthur often showed so he enjoyed it while it was presented to him for his enjoyment.

 

“You better believe it, darling. I’ll be back,” he made sure all of the lights were off before exiting the room. First he went to his room to order some food for them, charging it to his room and telling them that he would call them when they were ready for it. After that he decided that he should probably be productive while he had some extra time on his hands and headed down to the front desk. The line was a little long since a few people were checking in at this time of day, but he eventually got his turn with a new receptionist than he had the other day. “Hi, I heard you can check out early if you know there will be no more charges to the room.”

 

The man was very quick and precise, swiping his credit card to pay off the charges he had accumulated. He explained that the next day when he checked out Eames would just have to bring the key down before leaving, unless more charges happened to be made. Then he excused himself to the back room, the same one his receptionist the first day had disappeared to. “Your account says this is for you once you check out.”

 

He took the offered envelope, just as plain as his first one that he had received nearly a week ago. He opened it quickly, knowing that there were other people waiting in line behind him, and felt his heart fall as a plane ticket fell into his hand. He glanced over the terminal and departure time, quickly stuffing it back into the envelope and handing it back to his attendant, “Can I pick this up tomorrow?” He didn’t want to look at it anymore.

 

“Of course, you can pick it up when you hand in your key card,” the man explained, tucking the envelope away carefully.

 

“Thanks,” he mumbled and stepped away from the front desk, feeling a little sick. He had been hoping that his plane might leave later in the afternoon or even in the evening so that he and Arthur could work in another half day to be together. But that apparently wasn’t the case and he doubted they’d even manage to grab breakfast before he had to grab a taxi.

 

Feeling dejected, he rode the elevator up in silence and stepped back into room 1731 quietly. He grabbed the door so that it would not slam shut and peeked into the room, taking note of the fact that the bundle of sheets was rising and falling rhythmically – Arthur was asleep. He wanted to crawl into bed and never leave but he didn’t want to disturb the other man. He couldn’t just sit around with his own thoughts though, waiting for Arthur to wake up as he grew more and more depressed as their last day slowly came to an end.

 

He noticed Arthur’s recently purchased books sitting on the dresser in the darkness and picked the architecture one up carefully. He ducked back around the wall and turned on the lights hung over the counter sitting on the exterior of the bathroom, hoping that it would be dim enough to not bother his mark. The pages felt worn between his fingers so he handled them with care as he began reading the book; architecture was not his speciality or his job, but it never hurt to get some new ideas and details that made a dreamscape more real.

 

He lost track of time in the book, his disappointment hovering at the edge of his mind, but eventually he heard a groan from the main room. “You alright, love?” he asked quickly, pulling himself off the carpeted floor stiffly.

 

“What were you doing over there?” Arthur asked instead when he returned to the main room, setting down the book delicately.

 

“Reading. So...” he sat on the edge of the bed beside Arthur’s elbow, “Why were you groaning? Still have your headache?”

 

“No, the headache is entirely gone, luckily,” he watched as Arthur readjusted his position, leaning back against the pillows. Arthur looked away suddenly, “I was groaning because I realized that I spent the majority of our last day sleeping.”

 

“That’s alright, love. We were trying to fit a lifetime in, remember? We couldn’t have gone an entire lifetime without one of us getting sick,” he assured Arthur as he sat on the bed fully and found his own nook in the pillows. Eames felt his own pang of disappointment that they could not have done more, but knew that no matter how much time he had he would never consider it enough. And when he thought about it, they had still managed to make this day wonderful and memorable – redwoods, cuddling, their first kiss, some TLC, and dancing later. They had managed to make the best of a bad situation. “Hungry?” he finally asked to change the subject, “I’ll tell them to bring the food up.”

 

He grabbed the phone and called up the food quickly, hearing Arthur’s sigh when he hung up, “This is the worst situation I have, or ever will, experience.”

 

“I know,” he answered dully. As much as he wanted to comfort the other man through this suffering, there was nothing else he could say that would not be a lie. He knew that some day it would hurt less, that Arthur would forget about him and maybe, _someday_, he would forget about Arthur as well. But that thought hurt immensely. He hesitated for a moment, wondering if he should add more bad news to the situation, but decided that his companion needed to know, “I checked out while you were sleeping so I wouldn’t need to worry about dealing with the charges tomorrow...my plane leaves at eleven in the morning and it’s international so--”

 

“So you’ll have to be there at least two hours before departure...We won’t even have the morning.”

 

“I wish I could reschedule, love...” he spoke softly. Maybe he could reschedule...or maybe he could just walk to the front desk the next day and tear the plane ticket to pieces. Was this job really worth it, now that he knew what he was giving up for it? He was about to speak, probably to say something that he could never take back and would violently change his future, but he was interrupted by the sound of knocking. “That’d be the food...I’ll be right back.”

 

When he returned and spread the food out on the giant bed he was informed by Arthur that his plane was leaving at six in the afternoon the next day. His mark seemed entirely set on the notion of getting on that plane tomorrow and decided that there would be no point in changing his mind now. They had made their choice mutually, and it wasn’t fair for him to suddenly take that back and expect Arthur to do the same.

 

They ate their food quickly, not really enjoying anything, and the food gave him the energy to regain his cheerful attitude now that he was so close to seeing Arthur dance. They chose each other’s outfits to kill time, grabbed a drink, and headed to a club that had been recommended by just about everyone in the hotel or online that he had talked to. They arrived and disposed of their coats before heading upstairs.

 

He bought them both one more drink to relax his mark a bit, but when Arthur was finished his second drink of the night he eventually grew impatient and dragged the man onto the crowded dance floor. “Don’t be so shy, darling. You don’t even have to do any work; I already want you.”

 

He finished it off with a wink, drawing an attractive blush onto that face as they found an empty space of dance floor close to the wall. “You might change your mind.”

 

“_Nothing_ could make me change my mind, love. You can trust me on that,” he assured the man seriously, knowing they were some of the truest words he had ever spoken. “Just...” he began to sway, easily adopting the rhythm of the beat, “dance how you want to dance. Let loose and enjoy!”

 

He closed his eyes and danced lazily, demonstrating his words. He didn’t know the ‘right’ moves; he just followed the music and had fun. But when he opened his eyes a moment later he saw that Arthur was still standing there on the edge of the floor stupidly, looking lost, so he raised a disapproving eyebrow. This seemed to jolt the man into action and his mark slowly began to give himself up to the beat of the music.

 

Eames danced for a while himself, keeping his eyes open to watch Arthur even as the other man closed his own eyes. He allowed his gaze to trace over that loose form, those rocking hips, and that relaxed face. There was so much that he wanted to do to his mark in those moments, utterly enthralled. Eventually he found himself losing his control and he pulled Arthur closer. He pulled the man’s arms up around his neck, feeling them wrap around him closely as asked without words before he slipped his arms around those swaying hips.

 

He tried to keep it innocent to begin with, using their close proximity to simply lead Arthur to the music, their bodies moving in harmony. He only had enough self-control to keep that innocence for a few songs though, and soon he gave up and began kissing the man’s tempting neck. Arthur’s nails dug into his shirt and shoulders as he sucked and kissed hungrily, sighing against his ear as they continued swaying. This caused a jolt of arousal to take him over and he gripped his mark’s hips securely before thrusting against him with purpose.

 

“Eames...” Arthur whined into his ear, thrusting forward to seek more contact. He began walking Arthur backwards until they were against the wall. He was not aware of anything else going on around him, focused solely on the music leading their intimate dance and the feeling of Arthur thrusting up against him while being caught between his body and the wall.

 

He continued to follow the rhythm of the music as he led them through their private dance, Arthur’s arms still holding him close as he lavished attention on that pale neck. Suddenly he felt one of Arthur’s hands rest on the back of his head, fingers tangling in his short hair before pulling his head up forcefully into a desperate kiss. He lost every sense of control in that moment, meeting the kiss feverishly. He kept one hand on the small of his companion’s back to continue leading Arthur’s growing need against his own impatiently, while he released his other hand to tilt the man’s mouth at a better angle.

 

He groaned into that inviting mouth as a shock of pleasure skirted up his spine every time they grinded together. Arthur pulled away, both of them breathing hard in the small space between them, “Hotel.”

 

“Right,” he agreed, brain sluggish at the implication of what they were about to do. He seized one last, hard kiss in his anticipation before grabbing Arthur’s hand and leading him through the crowd of dancers to get their coats and steal a cab from the front of the downtown club.

 

His face felt warm and his cheeks tingled as they slid into the back of the taxi, knowing he had a blush on his face and something entirely inappropriate in his pants – but he couldn’t bring himself to care as he struggled for breath. He attempted to slide over to Arthur’s side of the cab to continue things immediately but was rejected. For a moment he couldn’t believe he had completely forgotten how uncomfortable his mark was with the idea of public displays of affection, let alone what _they_ had just done. He took it lightly, understanding, and glanced over at the other man when Arthur spoke, “I don’t know why you suggested dancing. We could have just stayed in the hotel and saved ourselves the cab fee.”

 

He smirked at the man’s words and how Arthur spoke of what was about to happen like an utter guarantee. “I don’t regret a thing, darling. First of all, I’ll always have that memory. And secondly,” he forced himself not to laugh, “I wanted proof of my assumption that you would be a fucking sexy dancer when you let yourself.”

 

“Bastard,” was all Arthur responded with, though it was not spoken viciously.

 

They slipped into the hotel and he wondered silently why Arthur was walking so slowly, glancing around. But they eventually made it back to Arthur’s room, too impatient to move over to Eames’s room as his mark began searching for his key. Feeling playful and aroused, he placed his hands on the door, one side on each side of Arthur’s head as he pressed against that warm body. He pinned his mark against the door and began grinding against him, languidly thrusting his growing need against the man’s sweet arse. He heard Arthur groan as the man threw his head back, “Unless you want something to happen right here in this hallway you better find that key card fast, darling,” he warned without pausing in his movements.

 

Arthur grinded back against him, causing him to groan at the feeling as he was pushed back slightly while his mark found his key. He pressed up against Arthur again just as the door opened, both of them stumbling in. He caught the other man before he fell and as soon as the door clicked closed behind them he began ripping clothes off his mark. Now that they were in private and Arthur would not be uncomfortable, he could barely contain himself.

 

Once all of their clothing had been removed except for their boxers he stepped closer and pressed Arthur against the wall, lifting him up into the air. He felt the man’s arms wrap around his neck and his legs around his hips, keeping that warm body against his own. He began rocking against Arthur with his angle as their lips finally met again; it had felt like an excruciatingly long time since the club. Arthur moaned into his mouth, moving against him, and opened his mouth for Eames to explore. His whole body was tingling with sensation and he was about to take that invitation but he realized that if this was their first – their _only_ time to be together, he didn’t want it to happen against a wall and rushed. “Wait, we’re rushing this.”

 

“We don’t exactly have another day to do the whole courtship thing,” Arthur began nipping and kissing his neck, surprising him into a drawn out groan at the feeling. His mark did not really strike him as the person to push or lead this sort of thing, but the man in his arms almost seemed frenzied in his passion.

 

He was panting as he kissed the man’s collarbone, not having the determination to distract that sinful mouth from its current quest. “I know, but we’re going to do this right.”

 

He made sure that he had a good grip on Arthur before he quickly leaned over and snatched a bottle of free lotion from the countertop. His mark’s limbs tightened around him and he stumbled towards the bed, dropping him on the soft mattress once his knees brushed the edge of the sheets. He slipped his boxers off and stole Arthur’s before his companion relocated to the middle of the bed.

 

He straddled Arthur and slowly brought his weight down on the other man, pressing him into the mattress as they begin a slow and relaxed kiss. Now that they had taken a moment to catch their breath and slow down, they seemed capable of maintaining the new pace to enjoy every detail of this moment. He wished he had had the courage to ignore his dream and do this sooner, though he did not know if Arthur would have accepted him so readily if he had rushed this.

 

Their hips continued their own dance as he kissed their breath away. Arthur quickly opened his mouth when Eames ran his tongue along that swollen bottom lip. He delved in greedily, tasting Arthur’s fresh toothpaste and some of the rum he had drank at the club before this began. He shivered at the feeling of his mark running his curious fingers over his skin, wanting to be even closer as he pressed down. He began feeling dizzy with lack of breath so he pulled away, speaking before he thought, “You know, I was surprised...that you kissed me...darling.”

 

“Why?” Arthur panted, staring at him with dark eyes.

 

He dropped his head, unable to meet those curious eyes in his moment of embarrassment. But he had already started this, no backing out now. “Well a few nights ago I...dreamt about you. And you kept me from kissing you – said it complicated things. I suppose I just assumed you would say the same in reality...” he noticed Arthur staring at him with a mixed look of embarrassment and renewed arousal, “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

 

“...Was I wearing a collar?”

 

His eyes widened as realization hit him like a sledgehammer. He had read some theories on dream sharing before – dreams being shared by individuals without the help of the chemicals or the PASIV machine – but there had been no scientific proof that it could happen. It was all anecdotal. But somehow...they had dream shared and...He had already been with Arthur once. This sent a wave of desire down his spine but he pulled away, worried that Arthur would not take this as well as he was. “Shit, I’m _so_ sorry, love. It must have been some sort of shared dream. I didn’t know--”

 

He was halfway through attempting to salvage the situation when Arthur suddenly pulled him down into a mind-numbing kiss. As soon as he realized that his already-lover was not angry – the exact opposite in fact – he met that kiss with everything he had. Every time they broke apart for air he would whisper the man’s name between them, disbelieving of his luck at having Arthur _wanting_ to be with him _again_. And the understanding that even a few days ago Arthur had wanted to be with him, enjoyed their coupling and gave him that affectionate smile afterwards made him eager for more.

 

“Eames...” Arthur eventually whined when they pulled away for air. He held off from beginning their kiss again and waited, trying to calm his body down so that he didn’t finish before this even began. “I want you inside me..._now_.”

 

He groaned as he lost his breath, his eager need twitching at those surprisingly dirty words spilling from the lips of his precise, proper mark. He nibbled Arthur’s lower lip before kissing down that body, memories of their shared dream flooding his mind. “You shouldn’t be allowed to talk like that, love.” Not if he wanted this to last.

 

“You love it,” his companion moaned as he began working on the man’s nipples curiously.

 

“Damn straight I do,” he admitted readily before continuing down that hard, waiting body.

 

He reached his goal, lying between those spread legs again as he took Arthur into his mouth willingly. He tasted just the same as in their shared dream, warm and salty with precome. “_Eames_...” Arthur moaned into the air again, making his name sound like a prayer. He glanced up to meet those eyes, “I need _you_.”

 

He found himself unable to deny that request and pulled away, blowing air against Arthur’s wet length that was standing at attention. He watched eagerly as Arthur bucked up into the air at the feeling before he reached over for the forgotten lotion, glancing at the label before dipping his fingers in. “I hope you don’t mind smelling like lilies, darling.”

 

“I—_hngh_ – hate you,” Arthur grunted as he slipped his first lotion-slicked finger in, though he was hoping that this time it was more comfortable than the dream. Remembering the dream, he began dropping reassuring kisses along the skin he could reach while he worked one and then two fingers in, slowly stretching Arthur in preparation. He found a location on his mark’s inner thigh that caused him to arch up against his moving fingers when he nipped it. So he continued kissing and sucking that spot, giving the man a bright hickey and eventually breaking Arthur’s self-restraint, “..._Please_.”

 

At that solitary word he pulled his fingers out and worked on covering himself thoroughly. Once he was prepared he returned to between Arthur’s spread legs and carefully pushed himself in. The man below him gave a grunt of minor protest, tensing up around Eames, and he reminded Arthur to relax. As his mark calm he pushed in further until he was fully sheathed and against Arthur. He leaned forward and kissed his lover lovingly as they both adjusted. He had never felt this complete before, as if this was where he was meant to be.

 

He could not hold back for long though and began sliding in and out of Arthur fully once he was sure the other man was ready. They broke their kiss mutually to breathe as he moved in and out, sliding easily with the help of the lotion. He was lost in the sensation until Arthur suddenly leaned up, changing the angle he was thrusting at, and bit his neck with an obvious hint. He took the silent suggestion and began thrusting at a quicker pace, making sure to push all the way in each time his hips rocked forward. “You’re gorgeous, love,” he proclaimed easily, words spilling from his lips without conscious thought. “Feel so good, _ungh_, _so tight_...Could do this forever...”

 

He only realized what he had said when Arthur’s breath caught and his mark was suddenly wrapping his legs around his moving hips, pulling them closer together. Even though he had not thought about his words before he spoke them, he realized that it was entirely true; he wanted to do this to Arthur for the rest of their lives. Arthur began bucking up to meet each one of his thrusts and pulling him in further. The warmth around him sped up his pace and he suddenly felt Arthur spasm around him as he hit the man’s prostate, “_Fuck_, Eames!”

 

They managed to figure out the perfect angle for him to thrust against that sensitive bundle of nerves with each thrust, their bodies moving in harmony like two puzzle pieces fitted together perfectly. He could tell that Arthur was close and the other man’s body was drawing him towards his completion as well. Arthur’s arms wrapped around him to pull him down, their bodies pushed together, and he began to kiss along that neck whenever he had the breath to spare. “Who do you belong to, Arthur?” he asked without thinking, “Who owns your heart?”

 

Arthur gasped as he bit his skin lightly, nails digging into Eames’s back. “You.”

 

“_Who_?” He asked again, feeling a jolt of pleasure shudder through his spine with each one of Arthur’s whispered words. His thrusts were becoming so frantic and hard that he felt Arthur’s body being shoved up the bed, having to pull him back down to meet each thrust.

 

“_You_,” Arthur cried out as he threw his head back into the pillows, “God, _you_...”

 

He could feel Arthur’s weeping length sliding between their stomachs, which were pressed together tightly. “For how long, love?”

 

“Forever...” Arthur moaned his answer to him, sending a warning shudder through his body. As he buried his length into Arthur again and again, those words hanging in the air between them, he suddenly felt like he was claiming Arthur, like this was a promise that would last a lifetime. He continued working on the hickey that was forming on Arthur’s neck, standing out obviously on that luminescent skin; he wanted everyone to see that Arthur belonged to him, feeling a momentary wave of possession overtake him.

 

He felt Arthur’s body tense around him and arch up and he leaned forward to swallow Arthur’s voice as he called Eames’s name. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard, hearing Arthur call his name into his mouth as the man came across their stomachs. The man’s body continued to buck up as he worked through his orgasm, meeting every one of his desperate thrusts as he searched for his own end. “Come for me, Eames,” Arthur asked him wickedly.

 

He gasped at the words, Arthur’s body clenching around him as he continued to spasm and pulled Eames over the edge. “_Arthur_...” he whispered breathlessly as he shoved himself in as far as he could manage before coming, thrusting shallowly as he spilled himself into his lover’s body. He shuddered with his climax, answered by Arthur’s own shuddering body as he slowly relaxed.

 

He collapsed when he was finally finished, breathing hard against Arthur’s skin. He wrapped one arm around his mark’s stomach to hold him close, feeling the sticky mess that was the proof of Arthur’s enjoyment. That made him smile as he snuggled closer, feeling warm and complete. Despite the fact that he had wanted to do this with Arthur since before their dream, he was still surprised at how utterly content he felt. He could not think of much else he could share with Arthur, how they could get any closer than in this moment; until he told Arthur everything, of course. And as he lay there on top of the sheets and Arthur’s body, messy and loved, he decided that someday he would tell Arthur the full truth.

 

But a stronger thought came to mind first, sidetracking him. He couldn’t believe that in his moment of passion he had made Arthur make those sorts of claims and promises. He knew that someday, sometime after they split, Arthur would find someone else to make him happy. It broke his heart to consider it, but he knew it was the truth. And what bothered him even more beyond the fact that he had made Arthur promise that was the realization that he had not made the promise in return – vocally at least. “I shouldn’t have made you say that.”

 

“Which?” his mark gave a quiet sigh, tired rather than exasperated.

 

“The belonging and forever thing,” he admitted, kissing that skin in apology for his mistake. “But I feel the same you know. I’m yours. Until the day I die...I’m yours,” he promised, dropping feathery kisses to that salty skin. Even if they would someday manage to pick themselves up and continue on, he wanted Arthur to know that he felt the same and would be just as heartbroken the next day.

 

“Eames...” Arthur used a tone that drew his eyes up to meet that gaze, which was lit up with moonlight, “Whether or not we should have said it doesn’t matter because we both already knew it was true.”

 

He swallowed a lump in his throat at hearing those words, moved by the honesty and devotion in that soft voice. He held himself up so that he could look down at his mark’s open and non-judging face. “...Arthur?” he began hesitantly, wondering if he was going to go too far and shatter this moment. It felt as if he was handling the finest china and one wrong step could cause it to crumble.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I love you,” he spoke confidently, wanting his words to sound as honest and assured as he could ever manage. This, above all else, was what he _needed_ Arthur to believe.

 

He watched as a beautiful smile took over those soft lips and the man’s chocolate brown eyes, hazel streak lit up in the moonlight, brim with tears. He understood this expression when Arthur spoke, sounded just as serious, “I love you, too.” Even though he had been pretty sure that Arthur felt the same towards him, it was wonderful to hear the words aloud and spoken so boldly. Since his mark was such a private person who seemed unaccustomed to letting people get close, so similar to Eames in many ways, he had been unwilling to read too deeply into the man’s actions. Those private smiles, meant just for him, those stolen glances, those moments he would allow Eames’s touch even if it was unnecessary. He was scared to allow himself to see too much in them, worried he would have to deal with disappointment on top of heartbreak.

 

But now he knew and he dipped down to catch Arthur in a slow kiss. It was filled with happiness and love and completion; but at the same time it was tinged with sadness and regret, knowing that every second that ticked by was another second closer to their inevitable end. After a while Arthur pulled away and switched their positions, Eames finding his back pressed against the mattress and pillows while Arthur began tracing a finger over his skin. As his mark came across various scars he had accumulated throughout his years, the man began asking about their origins; ever the curious one. He explained each one easily, willing to tell Arthur anything in their moment of bliss as they temporarily separated themselves from the thought of tomorrow. He knew that if Arthur had asked him about his job or why he had to leave right then, he would have told the truth.

 

Instead, Arthur ran out of skin and curled up in his arms, yawning tiredly. Eames pulled the sheets half over them and held his companion close, breathing in his scent. Arthur’s hair smelt of the hotel’s free shampoo and he idly wondered what the man’s hair would smell like with Arthur’s own shampoo; what he kept wherever he called home. If he were to stay with Arthur beyond this week he would find out; there was so much he could still learn about him and he wanted to know it all. He came out of his musings when he realized that his mark’s breathing was slowing. “Arthur...Arthur? Arthur!”

 

“Wha?” the man muttered, nestling his head closer to his chest.

 

The thought of them falling asleep and their last few hours slipping away from their grasp caused tears to burn his eyes. He tried to fight them, to keep them from falling. “Don’t go to sleep yet,” he begged.

 

“But ‘m so tired...”

 

“_Please_...I’m not ready for it to be tomorrow...” he heard his own traitorous breath catch as he fought his tears. The understanding that tomorrow he would have to kiss Arthur, tell him he loved him, kiss him again, say goodbye, and then leave forever broke him. His tears finally flowed freely, stinging his eyes and wetting his cheeks. He looked away in embarrassment when Arthur looked up at him curiously, seeing that he was crying. He had not cried in years, but he was hoping that maybe Arthur would have something to say – something to make this hurt less. But instead of speaking, Arthur placed delicate and loving kisses along his face while brushing away his hair, finally kissing his salty and quivering lips. “You’re not saying anything,” he whispered desperately.

 

“Because there’s nothing to say,” Arthur spoke apologetically, a few similar tears sliding down the man’s cheeks and catching the moonlight. “I wish there was something I could say to make it better – make it hurt less. But tomorrow will come whether we want it to or not.”

 

He allowed one embarrassing, pathetic sob to escape him before he pulled Arthur down into a crushing embrace. Arthur hugged him back just as strongly, cradled against him. He knew his tears were probably spilling onto his mark’s skin, just as Arthur’s tears were wetting his skin, but neither of them complained. “I love you, Arthur,” he proclaimed again, wondering if maybe that would make some new solution appear.

 

“I love you too, Eames,” Arthur reminded him easily, petting his hair absentmindedly to try to relax him.  As much as he had hoped those words might be the magical fix, they merely made the thought of tomorrow hurt more as he continued to cry. “Let’s go have a shower to calm down,” Arthur suggested to him eventually.

 

“Okay,” he agreed without any real intention of letting the man out of his grasp. He hated crying, the sting of his eyes, the headache, the way it caused his body to shake. He had cried for weeks after his mother had died; he had cried for so long that he assumed he had cried a lifetime’s worth of tears because he had not cried again after he finally stopped. Until now. But he felt safe crying with Arthur beside him, sharing his sorrow and pain. It was still unpleasant but he didn’t feel like it was something to avoid anymore. He finally relaxed with Arthur’s warmth beside him, “...Okay.”

 

He released Arthur hesitantly, fearing he would turn to smoke and disappear this moment. But instead his mark pulled him off the bed and led him into the shower. He stood under the spray dully, feeling the warmth of the spray slowly fight off his shivering. Arthur looked back at him, “I thought you would have been overjoyed to get me in the shower naked.”

 

“Don’t get me wrong, love,” he smiled minutely, glancing over Arthur’s gorgeous body once for good measure, “But it’s hard to be happy when I know this is one of the last times I’ll see you.”

 

Arthur stared at him for a moment before pulling him under the spray, capturing his lips easily. He was surprised by how therapeutic the feel of his lover’s lips against his was; it momentarily blurred everything else in his mind as he focused solely on the wonderful sensation, body warm and relaxing. When they eventually stopped, Arthur seemed to realize that he was feeling a little more stable because he braved some advice, “Just do what we did this whole week. Enjoy the moment; don’t think about tomorrow before you have to.”

 

It was not the most satisfactory advice, but it was the best they both had so he smiled and did his best to shove tomorrow away. Besides, how could he stay depressed and distracted with a naked Arthur standing in front of him under the hot shower spray? With this thought in mind he began washing Arthur’s body, flirting here and there as he massaged the skin and muscles he came into contact with. He also washed away their sticky mess, enjoying his excuse to paw Arthur’s stomach and arse. His mark washed him in a similar fashion until they got distracted and ended up kissing leisurely under the spray again. “One thing I almost forgot.”

 

“What’s that, love?” he asked, noting the rarely-heard playful tone in the other man’s voice.

 

“This.” That mouth was suddenly fastening to his neck, teeth nipping his skin before Arthur began to suck hard. He groaned loud enough to be heard over the falling water and rested his head on Arthur’s bare shoulder. He wrapped one hand on each of Arthur’s narrow hips, fingers splayed wide and holding the other man close as they slid over wet skin.

 

He felt his skin tingle where Arthur’s mouth was working, knowing without seeing that he was soon to receive a similar hickey to the one he had possessively placed on his lover’s neck. “That’s not exactly a good way to _relax_ someone, you know,” he only pulled away when he was sure Arthur was done, not minding the possessive attention nearly as much as he made it sound.

 

“I know,” Arthur smirked with intent, “but I wasn’t walking out of this hotel with a hickey if you weren’t. Now everyone will know that someone managed to capture your heart...even if only for a week.”

 

He could tell that Arthur’s thoughts were quickly spiralling downward so he decided to help him in the same way his mark had helped earlier. He laughed as he turned off the shower, trying to lighten the mood, “And you’re the one who acts so bloody mature.” They towelled themselves dry and moved back into bed naked, knowing that at this point there was nothing to be uncomfortable about. “It seems like such a waste to sleep,” he spoke quietly as he pulled the covers over them.

 

“I know, but we have to,” Arthur sounded just as displeased as he did, making him feel marginally better if only because his heartbreak was shared.

 

“I know,” Eames agreed. Arthur had lain down on his side facing away from the windows so he curled up behind him, spooning his body around Arthur’s. He wrapped one arm around his mark’s stomach to hold him close but he felt the other man catch his hand, twining their fingers together silently.

 

“Eames?” Arthur asked him hesitantly in the silence, yawning loudly before tucking his body closer against his own.

 

“Yeah, darling?” he yawned as well, the action contagious.

 

“Don’t leave without saying goodbye.”

 

“I won’t,” he pledged, sealing his promise with a kiss to the base of Arthur’s neck, short hairs tickling his lips. He relaxed against the pillows for a few moments, biting his lip and wondering if he should speak. But he decided that this was probably his last chance to say it and that it was something he would regret holding back later, “Arthur?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“I’m so glad I met you,” he pulled Arthur closer, as if that were possible. He meant those words seriously, just as seriously as when he told Arthur he loved him. His heart was breaking and he didn’t know how long it would take for him to be okay after they split, but he was still thankful for meeting Arthur. The man had changed him, given him hope, and been brave enough to get to know him for who he truly was. He was so grateful for that.

 

“Me too,” Arthur muttered to him in the darkness, “So glad.”


	13. Day Seven: Arthur

**Day Seven**

** _Arthur_ **

 

He felt the bed shifting behind him and his secondary heat source disappear before he fully woke up to realize something was happening. He rubbed his eyes tiredly, noting that it was still dark in the room with pre-dawn light. “Eames?” he muttered through a yawn, looking back to find the mattress behind him empty.

 

“I was hoping I could let you sleep for a little longer,” Eames ducked back into view from the front hall area, looking guilty and exhausted. The man had one leg already threaded through yesterday’s pants, chest bare as he searched for his shirt on the floor from last night.

 

“Were you just going to leave without saying anything?” he asked, feeling flustered by his sudden wave of fear pushing through his tiredness at the realization that Eames had been dressing quietly enough to slip away.

 

“Of course not,” his mark returned to the side of the bed, mattress dipping down under his weight as he leaned over to drop a soft kiss on his lips. “But I need to go pack. I figured you could get some extra sleep while I did that.”

 

“I could spend time in your room while you packed,” he suggested, though not strongly. He knew that his mark may have things he didn’t want him to see. He figured that with how much he had learned about the man already without his consent, Eames deserved at least some privacy.

 

“Just stay in that warm bed,” Eames smiled and stood up to continue searching for his shirt, “I’ll be back soon.”

 

“Alright,” he lay back against the mountain of pillows, watching silently as Eames wandered around the room finding his haphazardly discarded clothing.

 

Eames sent him a playful wink once he was finally dressed, heading for the door. “Back soon, darling.”

 

The door clicked closed and he was left alone in the slowly lightening room alone. He rolled over, searching for that warm patch created by their combined bodies through the night. He closed his eyes and buried his head under the covers, attempting to sleep since he knew he would need to travel and impress his employer later today. He managed to doze lightly, time skimming by his dim consciousness, but he was unable to fall asleep fully as he imagined Eames wandering around his disaster of a room and packing.

 

He wondered if Eames had grabbed his key card or whether he would have to get dressed and open the door himself. But his answer came some time later when he heard his door open and close softly, the sound of a roller bag skidding across the thick carpet evident. He rolled himself onto his back and blinked his eyes open as the roller bag came to a rest and the mattress dipped down again. “You should have packed last night.”

 

“I know,” Eames lay down beside him, uncaring of ruining the suit he was wearing – sans tie, of course. “But in case you forgot, I was a little preoccupied last night.”

 

He smiled lightly at the memories that floated through his mind at those words, body still pleasantly tired from their lovemaking. “You actually managed to find everything in that disaster you call a room?” he teased lightly.

 

“Have I never told you that there is method to my madness, pet?” Eames chuckled, staring at the ceiling.

 

“I’m sure you told me at some point,” he tried to maintain the cheerful mood, worried about what they might spiral into if it fell away, “But that doesn’t mean I believed you.” He saw Eames smile lightly but his mark remained silent and staring up at the ceiling. “When do you have to leave?” he asked a little more seriously, fighting off his sense of dread.

 

“Soon,” his mark grumbled, “I took longer than I meant to and I’ll probably need to grab breakfast at the airport now.” He didn’t know what to say so he rolled over onto his side and rested his head on Eames’s shoulder. “...Arthur?”

 

“Yeah?” he asked curiously, noting the hesitance in his mark’s normally confident tone.

 

“...There’s something I want to give you,” Eames confessed mysteriously, eyes still trained on the ceiling, “But I don’t know if I should.”

 

“What is it?” he sat up, sheets pooling around his stomach. Eames sat up as well and contemplated him silently for a moment. Then he slid off the bed to walk over to his suitcase, which was resting against the wall. Arthur noticed quickly that the painting he had bought the other man at Fisherman’s Wharf was packaged carefully and sitting beside the suitcase.

 

He suddenly wished he had gotten changed while his companion was packing, feeling very uncomfortable naked while Eames was in a suit. Eames did not seem to be bothered by the difference in attire though, making him push the thought aside as the other man sat on the bed beside him. A tiny bag was shoved into his hands, Eames looking nervous and shy all of a sudden. He raised an eyebrow and opened up the bag, a small box landing in his hand. “I got it in Chinatown that day we visited. I’ll understand if you don’t like it or don’t want to wear it--” his mark suddenly began stumbling over his words.

 

“Eames, breathe,” he ordered, trying to hide the sudden fluttering in his heart and stomach. The man took a deep breath and fell silent, watching him anxiously. He carefully opened up the box and saw a thin, white gold chain sitting softly on black velvet. “Eames...” he breathed, not knowing what to say.

 

“I knew you wouldn’t like it – you’re not a jewellery person. It was a stupid idea, I just wasn’t thinking. You really don’t have to wear it...” his mark began rambling again, jaw clenched and eyes downcast.

 

He held the box and the chain out of the man’s reach when Eames tried to snatch it away, “Eames...I love it.”

 

“What, really?” the man stopped short, watching him keenly as he delicately lifted up the chain between his fingers. “I didn’t think you would want to wear anything like this.”

 

“I don’t generally wear jewellery,” he admitted, holding the chain up in the growing light of the new day to see the details better. “But you have become the epitome of an exception in my life this week; I figure I can make one more exception.” He smiled warmly at the look of joy that overtook his lover’s face at those words. “What do the symbols mean?” he asked when he noticed that there were different charms woven into the chain.

 

“Every piece of jewellery was unique, with different meanings,” Eames shuffled closer, carefully taking the chain from his hands. “I chose this one because the chain’s weave represents devotion while these charms mean trust and honesty. I got this as a sort of...promise to you, Arthur.” He felt his gaze being drawn to those sharp, beautiful eyes. “We may be saying goodbye today, but I promise that the next time we see each other I will explain everything to you. I want you to wear this to remember that.”

 

“Don’t you mean, ‘if we see each other again’?” he asked dully.

 

“No, I mean ‘when’. I’m not a huge fan of believing in fate but I can’t believe that I could care this much about you and never see you again. It’s just unfathomable, so I plan to believe that it is just meant to be,” Eames transferred the chain to one hand and used his other hand to trace tender patterns over his cheek and neck. “So...will you agree to wear it, knowing what I’m promising?”

 

“Yes,” he answered solidly, stilling Eames’s hand before he could put the chain on. “But only if you’ll allow me to place the same promise on it for you.”

 

Eames smiled at his words and leaned forward to catch his lips in a chaste kiss. “I look forward to the day, love,” he agreed before playfully tilting Arthur’s head down to attach the chain around his neck securely. When the chain was clasped together he was pulled into a deep and languid kiss, Eames eventually pushing him back down onto the mattress to get closer.

 

He threaded his fingers into that short hair and returned the kiss lazily, trying to pretend that they were not on a time limit. He was a little surprised by his own promise to tell Eames everything – the full truth – if they saw each other again, especially considering the fact that he knew the man would hate him when he knew. He was not quite as optimistic as his mark seemed to be about the idea of them meeting again; the world was a very large place. But he decided silently to himself that if it did come about that they met again, he would take the risk and finally be entirely honest with his companion.

 

Eames was not lying on him fully, probably knowing that they did not have the time to follow the path that would inevitably begin in that position. Instead, the man lay beside him but rested his upper body on his chest, suit fabric and buttons warmed by body heat pressing against his bare skin. One of the man’s warm hands cupped his face, holding him close, while the other one skimmed along his side fondly, causing him to shiver occasionally.

 

The chain was pooling in the hollow of his neck as he lay down and he was stunned by how comforting the weight of the warming metal of his new chain felt against his skin. He was not sure if it was because it was from Eames, or because of the meaning chosen specifically for the chain, but it made him a little less terrified about their parting, which was quickly approaching. It was not long, but was just long enough so that it would rest below any shirts he chose to wear, which he appreciated. This was something he wanted to keep for himself and did not feel the desire or the obligation to share it with the world; it was their own private promise to one another – between star-crossed lovers.

 

Their lips moved in a synchrony that spoke of more than he should have ever allowed to happen between them. As they lay there, tongues meeting and lips dancing, he knew without a doubt that he had utterly failed himself during this job. Yes, he had collected enough information on his mark to impress anyone in the world, but he had let his guard down and gotten too close. Now both he and Eames were going to suffer, and it was all because he had not maintained his air of professionalism. Of course, in those quiet moments of loving kisses, he couldn’t bring himself to care. He could hate himself for his decisions later.

 

He was not sure how long they had remained there, his sense of time skewed as soon as those enticing lips met his own and stole his attention away. But at some point Eames must have glanced over at the hotel’s clock on the side table because he pulled away quickly, “Fuck!”

 

As Eames pulled away from him, making to get off the bed entirely, he grabbed the man’s broad shoulders and twisted their positions. He pressed Eames down onto the bed, sheets half twisted around him and cool air brushing his back as he pinned his mark down. “Stay.” He knew it was a selfish thing to ask, but he couldn’t find the will to stop himself.

 

“I want to, love,” Eames whispered, holding him close. He allowed the embrace, hugging back urgently, “You know I want to.”

 

“We can tear our plane tickets to pieces, go somewhere else together,” he pleaded as he felt a few tears threaten to spill from his eyes.

 

“Arthur...” Eames placed a finger under his chin to pull his gaze up, thumb brushing away stray tears, “That’s not the man I fell in love with. Whatever it is that is pulling you away from me, you’re going to be your usual professional, perfect self and be amazing, alright? You are not the type of man to drop everything blindly and I refuse to be the one that makes you give up everything.”

 

He buried his head under Eames’s chin, embarrassed by his sudden weakness. For a moment he considered asking his mark for a phone number, an address..._anything_; but knew he shouldn’t. No matter how much he wanted Eames to be in his future, he _had_ to remember that the next time they met he would tell the man everything and most likely lose him forever. This was their last goodbye, it _had_ to be.

 

“Are you alright, darling?” He sniffled and nodded, trying to bring himself back to his controlled self. Eames seemed to be completely under control, no crying or pathetic pleas that could not be granted; he had to be strong as well. “...I have to go,” Eames eventually mentioned, voice regretful but strong.

 

He swallowed down everything he was feeling and brought a false calm over his body and voice, “Yes, you need to be at the airport soon.” He wiped away his drying tear tracks and sat back, realizing that he was still naked under the sheets. “Have a safe trip and good luck with everything...Have a good life,” he spoke hesitantly, feeling strangely awkward. Maybe if he could just categorize Eames as a stranger in his head again this would be easier.

 

“Yes, you too, love,” Eames placed a tentative kiss on his lips before sliding off the bed slowly, as if waiting for him to protest. He forced himself to remain silent, tired of being weak and selfish; his mark was handling this well so he would not make it more difficult. “Well...goodbye, Arthur,” Eames glanced back at him as he picked up the painting carefully and grasped the handle of his suitcase.

 

“Goodbye, Eames,” he responded from the bed, knowing that if he stood he would do something stupid like pin the man to the wall and never let him leave.

 

Without another word, Eames turned and left the room, door clicking shut behind him. Arthur continued lying in bed, trying to control his thoughts and his breathing. But then he thought he heard something outside his door and was suddenly throwing the covers off his body and grabbing yesterday’s boxers and wrinkled pants, pulling them on hurriedly. What if the other man was standing out there, debating and waiting for him to ask him to stay just one more time? He rushed to the door, not wasting the time to find a shirt, and pulled it open, “Eames?”

 

The alcove outside his door was empty and he felt his heart well and truly shatter to pieces in that moment. He had been strong before, distracting himself with addicting kisses and making himself false promises that everything would work out, but he could no longer continue that. Eames was gone, never to be seen again. He had made his choice and now he had to live with it. He slammed the door closed, allowing the tears to begin falling again. There was no one to be embarrassed in front of anymore – he was alone.

 

The rest of the day was a miserable blur. He did not order breakfast to his room, feeling sick and not hungry in his mood, and spent most of the morning sitting on the balcony watching the view of the San Francisco Bay. Occasionally he would check his watch, determining Eames’s progress – at the airport, bag checked, through security, boarding, plane gone. He briefly considered missing his plane, furious that his dream job had forced him to give up something so precious, but he remembered Eames’s words and carefully began packing.

 

He put on his best suit, reminding himself that he would be walking direction into an interview for his dream job when he got off the plane. The suit was also a small comfort, helping to return his poised and precise mindset of a professional dream worker. He couldn’t allow his emotions to ruin his opportunity, because then he would be letting Eames down as much as himself. He kept his chain on, tucked safely below his crisp collar and perfect tie, metal now warm from resting against his skin all morning.

 

Once he was finished packing he headed down to the front desk, bypassing the hotel’s restaurant due to lack of hunger and the desire to avoid memories. He handed in his key card and picked up his plane ticket that was packaged in a plain envelope. He stepped away from the front desk and took one last, long glimpse of the gorgeous hotel around him. When he had first stepped in here it had just been a beautiful building; now it was a building that held painful but cherished memories.

 

Eventually he left for the elevator and headed out the front entrance, the doorman calling up a town car for him. He packed his bag in the trunk and then slipped into the back seat, asking for the San Francisco airport. The driver nodded and pulled out onto the busy street, luckily not a driver that liked to force small talk because Arthur was in no mood to reciprocate. He paid the man when they arrived and stepped into the crowded airport, dodging around families, tourists, and businessmen towards baggage check.

 

The lines were long and he was in a rather impatient mood, making his trek through checking in and security less than enjoyable. He found his gate and bought some cheap airport food, knowing that he would be given dinner on the plane but also knowing that he probably wouldn’t want to eat it. It was a long flight he was lining up for though, so he knew he had to eat _something_. He couldn’t just allow himself to waste away; that wouldn’t solve anything.

 

As one of the flight attendants called for the beginning of boarding and he lined up, he looked around at the people lining up with him. There were some business people, dressed up in suits very similar to his own and totting a laptop bag or briefcase. He wondered if they were just as lonely as he was in this silent moment surrounded by bustle, choosing career over love, or whether they had somehow managed to find a balance and had someone to return home to. He could also see families and couples holding hands, sharing gentle kisses and soft-spoken words, in no hurry to proclaim everything they felt because they were not on a time limit. He dropped his gaze, swallowing hard, and handed over his passport to be checked.

 

He was in first class, which was a pleasant treat if only because he would be surrounded by fellow career-choosers rather than happy couples and families. He shoved his headphones into his ears the moment they were at the correct altitude and tried to drown himself in music and movies. He picked at his dinner with little interest, forcing the bland food down his throat and into his churning stomach. After that he just gave up and forced himself into a light sleep until the flight attendant was shaking him awake for landing.

 

Due to the time it took the plane to travel and the time zones they crossed, it was early morning when the plane landed in Paris. He had been a little surprised by the destination when he had opened the ticket at first, but had assumed that his employer had moved locations. He was grateful that he had slept for the majority of the flight considering the time and also the fact that there was a driver holding his last name on a board as he exited the airport.

 

He followed the driver out to the parked town car and leaned his head against the cool glass of the car’s window as he watched the passing scenery. He was overcome by a pleasant sense of numbness, not feeling happy but also not feeling particularly sad or lonely. He knew that at some point he would need to push the numbness aside and begin dealing with this, but for now he decided it was smart to remain emotionless until he was done with his interview.

 

The car slowed sometime later, pulling up along the curb in front of another rather lavish hotel, “Nous sommes arrivés,” the driver spoke before stepping out of the car to put his suitcase on the curb.

 

“Merci,” he tried to pay the driver but the man waved him off and stepped back into the car, driving away quickly. He raised an eyebrow and pulled his suitcase behind him as he entered the hotel and stepped up to the front desk.

 

He gave his name to the man standing behind the counter and after checking his identification the man nodded, handing him a room key. He explained briefly that Arthur’s suitcase would be taken up to his room ahead of him so he was left alone with only his essentials in his laptop bag, holding onto his important information as well as his documented research. Not knowing what else to do, he took the card and headed towards the elevators. When he arrived at the door that corresponded with his room key he knocked hesitantly. He heard muffled footsteps and then the door opened, his employer standing in the doorway, “Good to see you, Arthur. Come on in.”

 

He followed the man into the room and closed the door quietly behind him. He had been partially expecting the man’s mystery architect to be joining them but assumed that he had not officially ‘passed’ his test yet. He appreciated the man’s protectiveness over fellow team members to keep them safe, but he was not very comfortable with being out of the loop. He brushed his fingers along his concealed chain, calming himself while brushing it off as a tie adjustment. “Good to see you as well, Cobb,” he responded politely while he took the offered seat across from his employer, “I see you changed locations.”

 

“Yes, well if things go well today and you join the team I will have a job lined up for us to begin almost immediately. It is based in Paris so I figured it was worthwhile having our meeting here. So...” the man turned to him after taking a quick glance at the cityscape through the wall of windows, “Before we get started I would like to apologize for my Architect not being available for our meeting. She wanted to attend to officially meet you and take part in this, but she had to leave on short notice to pick up some new chemicals. My wife, Mal has always been an amazing architect but has always done things when it suited here; but you will meet her soon.”

 

“I look forward to it,” he spoke courteously, noting the content smile on Cobb’s face at the mention of his wife. He was a little confused as to why he had been given this information before officially being made a team member, but did not complain.

 

“Yes, well let’s get on with things, shall we?” Cobb looked over at him with an encouraging smile, though his eyes were sharp with intelligence. “I know you could probably give me lists and lists of facts on your mark because I don’t pick just anyone. But what I want for you to do instead is to explain to me what information would be useful if we were to actually be doing a job with him as a mark.”

 

“Are we going to?” he asked unprofessionally, completely out of turn. He saw the man’s eyebrow quirk curiously and he calmed the sensation of his stomach dropping.

 

“It doesn’t matter if we are or not. I am asking you to take me through the process of what we _would_ do, if we had to do such a thing, using the knowledge you collected. After all,” Cobb sat back in his chair, obviously trying to make him feel a little less anxious, “What is the value of knowledge if you cannot utilize it?”

 

Arthur nodded his understanding and pulled that new sensation of numbness back over his mind and body, dulling his nerves and uncomfortable thoughts. Once he stopped his fidgeting, the epitome of stillness, and cut out any thoughts that did not have to deal directly with meeting his employer’s requests, his mind sharpened. He began going through a detailed plan of how he would utilize the information he had learned about Eames to steal his deepest secrets. The part of him that was splintering with his own guilt and betrayal was pushed down and drowned out.

 

As he worked through his method, Cobb would occasionally ask more questions or pose different situations, objectives, or obstacles. He knew he was doing a successful job in meeting and surpassing the man’s expectations when the man grew silent and picked up a habit of nodding with his points; it was as if Arthur was already the Point Man and he was outlining their plan of action, including the risks. He had to admit that he was a little impressed with his plan as well; the fact that he had learned so much about Eames made it almost mindless to determine the best methods in navigating his mark’s mind. He was back to his professional self - back in his element - and his expertise was showing.

 

He finally reached the end of his argument, unable to think of anything more he could add to improve his impression on the extractor. Cobb nodded again and then was silent for a long moment, one finger pressed against his lips as he contemplated Arthur meticulously. The words that eventually left his employer was not what he had been expecting, nor particularly what he wanted to hear, “You seem to have a very personal understanding of your mark.”

 

“Pardon?” he asked cautiously, feeling his back straighten slightly at the implications in the man’s words.

 

“Well first of all you seem to know a lot of information that would be very difficult to come across without the individual telling you. Secondly, you seem to have a very good idea of which pieces of information _specifically_ will be useful. And lastly, which I find most interesting, you seem to know _why_.” Arthur forced himself to keep his relaxed posture, leaning back in his chair. Cobb did not look upset, merely curious.

 

“I befriended my mark; we saw the sights together,” he confessed, worried that he was already saying too much. “It is not one of my normal methods and I realize that it was extremely unprofessional; but since this job is so important to me, I determined that it was worth the challenges as long as I remained distant.”

 

“Forgive me, Arthur, but it does not exactly sound like you managed to remain distant.” He bit his tongue, making sure he didn’t spill everything in his momentary panic. He didn’t know where Cobb was going with this, especially considering the fact that the other man still seemed to be impressed with him rather than chiding him for his unprofessional methods. “Calm down, Arthur,” the man’s next words startled him, not realizing he had looked tense enough to notice it visibly, “You already have the job. You have more than surpassed my expectations and I know I can trust you to make the decisions you need to make when it comes to each unique job. I am merely asking because I value honesty among my team members.”

 

He nodded, feeling an indescribable burst of relief and joy at the realization that he had gotten the job. He took a steadying breath before meeting Cobb’s eyes directly, “I was not successful in remaining distant. We grew...close; we had fun sightseeing together. But that doesn’t really matter anymore because I chose to return to this job and I will not see him again.” He was thankful for his numbness as he spoke those words, his voice not wavering.

 

“I’m afraid that’s where you’re wrong, Arthur,” Dom spoke almost apologetically. And then, as if this whole thing had been planned out and this was all some huge joke, the hotel door opened and Eames stepped in. He stood up from his chair immediately, not knowing how to react as his mark stopped short at the sight of him, looking just as shocked and confused. They remained where they were, maintaining a safe distance between them as they glanced over one another.

 

A part of him was overcome with a sense of relief and happiness at seeing the man. He had honestly begun to come to terms with the idea that he would never see Eames again. He had not been _okay_ with that knowledge, but it had been accepted. Yet here he was, his companion and lover standing in front of him – only the length of a hotel room separating them from...from what? A kiss, an embrace...a life together?

 

But he kept his distance, also feeling a piercing sting of betrayal and guilt. Cobb had pitted them against one another, and Eames had been there to...what? What had his mark even been doing there in the first place; what was _his_ job? He began revisiting all of his memories – Eames approaching him, his mark going out of his way to spend time with him, his possessiveness. Had it all been because Arthur was actually a _mark_? Had it _all _been for the job?

 

He knew that was not entirely fair considering the fact that he had initially spent time with Eames for his job in return. But he knew there was some point during the week where his questions, curiosity, and wish to be around the other man developed from a job to a true desire. But was there that change for Eames or had the entire thing been an act to complete his job? Maybe he had realized that Arthur had fallen pathetically deep and had gotten him the chain as a sort of sympathy gift, not thinking that he would ever have to deal with him again.

 

He was overwhelmed with the desire to rip the chain from his skin but Cobb’s voice caught his attention, “Based on what you have both told me, I’m sure this is quite a shock. I apologize for any issues this may have caused but consider this a shared audition. You have shown your own abilities as well as quite a bit about one another through your demonstrations, including your ability to cooperate and work together.”

 

Arthur turned his gaze on Cobb, baffled and on edge. He couldn’t control the momentary flash of molten hatred towards Cobb. How _dare_ he do this to Arthur – to _both_ of them; this wasn’t a _game_. “What are you talking about?”

 

“I think you both know already,” Dom raised an eyebrow at him before quickly skirting his gaze over to the still-motionless Eames. “You have shown that Eames is cautious but very open and devoted to aiding the people he is close to, like I’m sure he will be with his team members. And in turn, he showed that you can be very dedicated to your work yet always consider and remain protective of the people you keep close.”

 

“I never said that when we talked,” Eames muttered, sounding just as confused and distant as Arthur had.

 

“You should know by now that not everything needs to be put into words for someone to know it is true,” Cobb seemed to chide both of them, even though Arthur had not protested vocally. “But I can see that you both need some time to talk things over in private. Eames, you already have your room key and Arthur, here’s yours,” his official employer pressed a new key card into his hand insistently. “You have some time to sort things out and get accustomed to the city, but two days from now I want you both ready to start working on our first job together.”

 

He hustled them out of the room and closed the door mischievously behind them, leaving them alone with one another. An oppressive silence dominated for a moment as Eames shuffled his feat and Arthur stood in stony silence. He wanted to hug Eames just as fiercely as he wanted to break the man’s nose. He wanted to say something – _yell_ something – but he didn’t know where to start. “Come on, my room is already set up,” Eames tilted his head in one direction in a subdued fashion.

 

Part of him wanted to just tell Eames to shove it and storm away to find his own room, but that would not solve anything. He had to work with this man now unless he wanted to attempt to find another, better team of dream workers – which was unlikely to happen. But more importantly, he had made a promise and he had meant it. In that moment as he trailed behind the silent man he was not entirely sure how he wanted things to turn out after their discussion, but they definitely needed to talk – even if they would not continue on as anything more than co-workers afterwards.

 

He slowed down when his former-mark stopped at a door and slipped his key card in. He waited for the other man to walk in and then followed behind, shutting the door behind him hesitantly. The next moment he found his back pressed against the sturdy wood of the door by a strong body and his mouth captured by familiarly warm lips, stealing his breath - and his protests - away.

 

His relief momentarily trumped his sense of betrayal and guilt and he treaded his fingers into that short hair and pulled the man closer to him, effectively pinning himself back against the door. Eames was everywhere at once, consuming the attention of all of his senses. His smell, his warmth, his breath, his lips. Their immediate reaction was a little ridiculous considering the fact that they had only been apart for half a day, one full one if you counted the time zones. Yet their combined relief was obvious, both of them having honestly believed that they had said goodbye for the last time.

 

But then he remembered everything he had just learned and forced himself to place his palms on that chest and push the other man away. “Eames,” he tried to keep himself from panting too obviously, trying to catch his breath, “We need to talk. This isn’t something we can just ignore with a kiss. Aren’t you...angry? Something?”

 

“Of course I am,” Eames met his gaze seriously, “I’m _furious_. I allowed myself to get closer to you than anyone else in my life and then I find out that it all happened because of some job. But I’ll be honest when I say that I’m more relieved than anything else, darling.”

 

“Okay...” he muttered, trying to push away the fluttering of his heart at those words, “Okay, but we still need to talk about this.” The other man nodded but stepped into his personal space, swiftly loosening his tie and working on the top buttons of his collared shirt, “Eames--!” he began to protest, not sure if he could deny his desire if the man went too far, relief still underlying his other thoughts.

 

“I just need to check something, love,” Eames whispered to him as his neckline fell open. He realized what the man was searching for when delicate fingers traced his neck and his chain, sitting snugly around his neck. “You wore it.”

 

“Of course I wore it,” he spat, frustrated by his distracted thoughts at that touch and the other man’s assumption that he had not taken the chain seriously. Eames dropped a tender kiss to the hollow of his neck just above the chain, before putting a step or two of distance between them. “I was beginning to think it had just been a sympathy gift though,” he admitted quietly, wanting to believe the love he had felt in that soft caress and kiss but nervous about opening up again so freely.

 

“Arthur..._darling_,” Eames spoke in a hushed tone, sounding regretful, “I meant every promise I attached to that chain and I gave it to you out of love. I wanted to tell you everything for days, even though I knew it could make you hate me – it still could...but I owe you the explanation.” The other man looked at him for some comment but he remained silent so Eames took a deep breath, “Alright, well to start off I would like to say that everything I _did_ tell you was completely true. Even the thing about me being an actor; I just didn’t explain _everything_. I’m a dream worker and a Forger, which means I can recreate appearances and personas in the dream to use against the mark.”

 

Arthur had read theories on forging in dreams but had never met someone who actually possessed the skills to accomplish it. “So while other people can create landscapes, you can create the image of someone in reality.”

 

“Yes, exactly,” Eames took his hand and sat him down on the edge of the double bed – much smaller than what they had shared just the previous night. Before he would have pulled Eames down and forgotten about the progression of time, tangling himself in the sheets with this man. Now his mind and body were conflicting with one another, unsure if it was safe to still desire the man who sat down beside him somewhat awkwardly.

 

“So if we went into a dreamscape you would look and act like me?” Despite the sense of treachery and distrust floating around his head, he had to admit that he was still fascinated by the concept of Forging.

 

“Yeah; if you’re still talking to me after this I can show you sometime,” Eames tried to joke lightly but he could hear the nervous tension in the man’s words. “...Anyway, I will admit that the first night I approached you, it was because of my job. It was not my normal method since I prefer observing from a distance, but I was desperate to impress Cobb and you seemed like an interesting mark. _But_, I want to assure you that not everything was for the job.”

 

He looked down at the carpet, unable to meet those eyes. He had trusted this man, given him every part of himself, and he had been betrayed. What if this was just another lie? “Arthur, love, look at me,” Eames begged, suddenly slipping off the mattress to kneel between his legs, forcing him to meet those sharp but sad eyes. “I know you feel betrayed because I do as well, but you have _got_ to believe me when I say that what I felt for you was real.”

 

“I know we have only been together a ridiculously short amount of time, darling, I know that,” Eames held his gaze purposefully as he spoke, captivating Arthur with his words. “I realized I liked you when you returned that affectionate smile in our shared dream because it wasn’t just about lust at that point. It stopped being about the job when we were in the wax museum and I realized that I wanted nothing more than to hear your laughter again and again. I realized then that I didn’t want to just answer your questions to see your expressions – I wanted to tell you because I wanted to share myself with you.”

 

Eames pointed to a dresser with a mirror beside the door, which he had not noticed when he first walked in. There, placed carefully against the wall and unwrapped, was the painting of the sun and moon that he had bought for his companion. “You kept it,” Arthur whispered, heart beginning its distracting fluttering once again.

 

“Of course I kept it, love; it reminds me of _us_,” Eames placed one hand on each of his own, resting precariously on his thighs. “Arthur, once again I know that we have not known each other long, but I realized I loved you when you fainted at the redwoods. I have not felt such pure fear and despair in my life since my mother was killed. So you need to know that even though this all began because of a job, nothing was fake.”

 

He pulled his hands slowly from underneath Eames’s grasp before cupping the man’s face, tilting it upwards. And then he leaned forward and caught those beautiful, perfect lips that were saying such wonderful things. Even though there really was no way of knowing, he felt the other man’s words ring true in his ears. Eames groaned and met this kiss greedily and Arthur felt the man’s fingers twine into his hair, pulling him closer. He let out a startled gasp when he was suddenly tugged forward and he fell off the bed. Eames’s back hit the carpet with a thud and he landed on top of him, immediately connecting their lips again.

 

Eventually Eames chuckled and broke the kiss, both of them breathing hard. “No offense, love, but I’d really like to hear your side as well.”

 

Arthur sat back quickly, probably not at the best angle based on the choked off moan he drew from Eames’s lips as he set his weight down over the man’s crotch. He pulled himself off the other man and sat down on the carpet, leaning against the side of the bed frame. Eames remained sprawled out on the carpet for a moment, regaining his composure and looking utterly delectable. But the other man ultimately sat up and looked at him expectantly. “Okay. I’m Cobb’s new Point Man; do you know what that entails?”

 

“More or less,” Eames nodded, “I’ve never worked with a team that had someone designated with that specific job, but I realize what it entails and how important it is to have.”

 

“Alright, well that’s my job and for my ‘audition’ Cobb told me to collect as much information on you as I could. What we did was certainly not _my_ normal type of method either; I prefer remaining as distant as possible – in every sense of the word,” he emphasized strongly, meeting Eames’s gaze steadily before glancing away. “But this is my dream job and I knew Cobb would be a good person to work with so I made an exception...and I got too close.”

 

“At first I was just asking you questions to collect information, and at first I told myself that it was just to impress Cobb. But then I began to realize that I didn’t want the personal details and context for the job...I wanted them because I actually _cared_ about your past, what made you who you are, and _why_. It was rather disconcerting, honestly,” he gave a tiny smile, trying to alleviate some of his awkward tension.

 

“I tried to fight it at first, knowing that it was unprofessional and wrong. I hated myself for lying to you about why I was there and I wanted to tell you. Though if I’m honest with myself I’ll admit that a part of me never wanted to tell you because I knew there would be no reason for you to trust me or care for me after that.” Eames was looking at him softly, though there was a sharpness of intelligence in those eyes as he listened silently, not interrupting him.

 

“None of it was a lie, except why I was asking questions and why I was really there. You have to believe me on that because I don’t know how else to make you understand how far I fell,” he met those eyes shyly; feeling frustrated by his inability to find the words that would wipe away any form of doubt in that face. “You irritated me at the start, but in the best way if that makes sense. People don’t usually have the interest to put up with me, let alone put in the effort to get under my skin and really get to know me. It was a...pleasant change, if annoying.”

 

He shrugged lightly, lost in thought before he continued, “It turned into something I actually began to relish when we were in the Ripley’s Museum and we finally found some comfortable grounds after our shared dream the night before that. I had not realized how much I hated us being at odds until we reconciled and began enjoying the day together again. It stopped being about the job when we played Truth or Dare that night because that was when I realized that I wanted to know everything about you for _you_, rather than the job. It was also enjoyable how we could just curl up on the couch under a duvet with that view and share so much with one another.”

 

He noticed Eames’s affectionate smile at his words, which gave him the courage to speak his next words. “I honestly don’t remember the moment I realized I loved you. I just know that I do. It might have been when we were in the hotel, back from the redwoods, and you explained me as if you had known me our entire lives. The fact that you had honestly put in so much effort to know the _real_ me was...well it was enough to tear down my last defence.”

 

Eames pulled him closer until he had no choice but to straddle the man’s thighs, coming face to face with his former mark. “I think it was the best thing I’ve ever done, darling, I honestly did not mind the challenge at all, and I was so happy to get to know the real you. It really had absolutely nothing to do with the job at that point, and I will swear that to you.” Eames smiled at him warmly, tracing a finger along his skin; over his cheekbone, down his jaw, around the chain. “I forgive you, Arthur,” he whispered solemnly, “Because I believe you and I love you and I want to be with you beyond this week.”

 

Those words sent a wave of relief and affection through him; he had truly believed that the other man would never want to speak with him again after the betrayal he had committed against him. Of course, when he thought about it, he was in the same position and he was just as ready to believe Eames in order to continue whatever this was becoming beyond a week. “I forgive you, too, Eames,” he breathed, hoping that those words would cover his returning sentiments with the addition of a hesitant but sweet kiss. Eames’s fingers stopped moving and instead a hand rested possessively on the back of his neck while the other rested on his thigh as the other man returned the kiss.

 

It was not their first kiss but it certainly felt like it. This was the first time they were kissing while knowing absolutely everything. It spoke of everything they had promised one another if they ever met up again: devotion, honesty, trust. It was pure and loving, unhurried as they savoured the simple sensation of lips against lips, saying so much more than words could ever manage. Apologies, confessions, declarations.

 

They remained like that for a long time, lips dancing slowly. But some time later he felt Eames’s hand leave his thigh and work under the hem of his shirt, yanking it out from his waistline. And then those deft fingers skimmed up his spine expertly, causing him to gasp and arch his back dangerously, pressing closer to his lover. This immediately sparked their shared desire and turned their kiss to a frantic pace, fingers working at clothing hastily.

 

Their kiss was interrupted when he pulled Eames’s shirt over his head, exposing that expanse of tempting skin. He ducked his head down to kiss the mouth-shaped bruise he had left on Eames’s neck sweetly once it was visible. Eames, apparently, was less forgiving than Arthur about hiding the mark because when his collared shirt finally fell away and he flicked it off his arms, the man leaned forward and bit down lightly on the mark. “Trying to hide this?” he asked possessively.

 

“You...did too,” he mewled, rocking against Eames’s body when the man nibbled and then sucked on his neck again, probably adding a new brightness to the mark on his neck. The other man looked like he was going to say more but was cut off by a groan as Arthur’s growing need pressed against Eames’s own. Both sturdy hands landed on Arthur’s hips and began leading a dangerous rhythm, thrusting up against him and causing him to rest his forehead on Eames’s bare shoulder as he whined. “Eames...” he keened, half out of desire and half trying to get the other man’s attention before they both fell over too quickly, “We have a lifetime.” The rocking slowed and eventually stopped, causing him to glare at the man, “I meant we could _slow down_, not _stop_.”

 

Eames smirked at him, nipping his lower lip before dropping his hands to undo both of their belts. “Up on the bed with you, pet,” he teased, nudging Arthur into motion. The order sent a jolt of lust through him and he quickly pulled himself into a standing position, legs shaky as he discarded his pants and ruined boxers. He slid onto the bed as Eames yanked off his own pants, nearly tripping in his hurry before dashing off the adjoined bathroom and returning with lotion. He groaned for the sake of complaining, especially considering Eames’s mischievous smile, “No complaining, love. Now be good and roll over.”

 

He sent Eames a warning glare, not really wanting the other man to know quite what the commands were doing to him as he slowly rolled onto his stomach. He was expecting lotion-slicked fingers, so when Eames spread him with warm fingers and strongly licked him, he automatically rubbed himself against the sheets below him with an embarrassingly loud noise of surprise and appreciation. That sinfully skilled tongue disappeared for a moment and he could not stop his sound of protest. “No finishing until I say so, darling,” was all Eames said, apparently able to tell what his dominance was doing to Arthur, before that tongue returned to its previous task.

 

He did his best to keep his hips steady as Eames continued lazily, but when that tongue suddenly slid into him he moaned low in his throat and thrust back against it, shuddering at the feeling. He twisted the bed sheets in his hands desperately and clenched his eyes closed, gasping for breath, “Eames, if you don’t want this to end right now, you better stop,” he ground out, barely able to conceive making himself ask Eames to stop this addicting torture.

 

The tongue disappeared and was replaced by cool fingers, pressing into him gently. He winced at the feeling, still a little sore from the day before, but he relaxed quickly as Eames worked him open expertly. It was as if he knew exactly what Arthur wanted and needed already. He knew that was not the case yet as they had only been together once in reality, but he shivered at the mere thought of what their lovemaking would be like as they continued to learn more about one another – about their bodies and desires.

 

Those fingers eventually disappeared, leaving him feeling stretched and empty. But this time he felt the anticipation of being filled, rather than feeling lonely...because this time Eames wasn’t going anywhere. They had forever. “I want to see your face, love,” Eames kissed his lower back before nudging him into turning over. He did so, relieved to not have pressure on his straining length any longer since he wanted to enjoy this – their first coupling without a time limit hanging over them.

 

He watched as Eames prepared himself, both of their eyes half lidded as their gaze skimmed over each other’s bodies possessively. Then Eames gripped him under the hips to adjust the angle and pushed in carefully, watching his face for signs of discomfort. Finally, after an agonizing amount of time, Eames bottomed out and fell still. It felt like coming home, a sense of love and belonging and warmth overcoming him. Eames carefully leaned over him, bending him slightly as the man’s length filled him even more. He could barely focus as Eames stole an adoring kiss from him, the innocence of their lips juxtaposed with their carnal coupling.

 

Eames began to move then, thrusting his hips at a languid pace, probably just to drive him insane. He thrust his hips up to try and spur the man into a quicker pace but his companion merely smirked down at him and ignored his silent plea defiantly. He groaned and fell back against the cool sheets, still enjoying the tingling sensation down his spine with each thrust. For a brief moment he considered the future and wondered if some day they would do this on a bed and sheets they owned – sheets that smelled of his shampoo and Eames’s cologne. He knew traveling and hotels were a requirement for this job, but he hoped that someday they could have a place to call home together.

 

He impatiently fell into sync with Eames’s chosen rhythm, mewling every time the man pressed in all the way; the slow pace almost made the sensations more powerful as they rocked together. He wondered how many more hickeys would be visible on his neck and body once they were finished, Eames’s lips busy as he moved. “You could move a _little_ faster,” he hinted, his whole body screaming for release.

 

“I can, can I?” Eames chuckled, never breaking his steady pace, “Why don’t you make me?”

 

At the challenging tone in those words he narrowed his eyes and pushed up, trying to switch their positions. Eames raised a curious eyebrow but helped him with the change until Eames was lying on his back and Arthur was seated on top of him, cock still filling him. His lover smiled up at him in amusement and fondness as he placed one palm on each of Arthur’s hips to help him balance. Arthur leaned back slightly and positioned one hand on each of Eames’s trembling thighs to get the right angle before he lifted himself up and allowed himself to fall back down.

 

Eames let out a beautiful groan, eyes fluttering closed at the feeling as Arthur began to set a much more demanding pace. He chose a faster speed as he led them towards their ending, but he made sure that each time he fell back down on Eames’s cock he did it purposefully, grinding his ass down and taking that hot length in deep before lifting up again. “Little – _ungh_ – minx,” Eames moaned. Now that the slow pace had been broken, Eames helped him in his quicker movements, aiding in lifting him up and adding force to his fall as Eames thrust up to meet him.

 

He threw his head back when one of Eames’s hands disappeared from his hip to begin stroking him firmly. He dug his nails into the man’s thighs as he arched forward against the touch, unsure of which direction to thrust – into Eames’s hot hand or onto his lover’s hard need. He fought with himself as he shuddered in pleasure, Eames winding his body tighter.

 

Finally Eames seemed to notice that neither of them could hold on much longer and swept the pad of his thumb over the tip of his length, “Come for me, my love.”

 

As if his body had been waiting for those words he suddenly shoved down on Eames with one final, decisive thrust and came. He held onto those shaking thighs as if they were the only thing grounding him as he rode out his orgasm, eyes closed and mouth open in a silent scream.

 

Eames’s hand continued to move, milking him dry, and then Arthur’s erratic movements as he came pulled an alluring and drawn out groan of his name from those swollen lips. He felt Eames shoot himself inside him, making their movements easy as they slid against one another. He shivered and leaned forward, letting out a quiet moan at the feeling of being filled. His shaking arms finally gave out and he collapsed on top of Eames, who was already waiting to pull him into an embrace; he forced himself to ignore his own sticky mess on his companion’s chest.

 

He struggled for breath as Eames carefully pulled himself out so they could both relax, their movements sluggish and relaxed. Once they had both caught their breath he peppered kisses along his lover’s mouth and face. His affection for the man was heightened in his post-climax bliss as he felt the proof of Eames’s pleasure begin to trickle from his body.

 

He felt exhausted as he cuddled up against Eames’s heat; long ignored emotional strain as well as jetlag and physical exertion finally catching up with him. He wrapped his arms around the other man as he was shuffled around into a more comfortable embrace, the other man managing to yank the covers from under their sated bodies to protect them from the draft in the room. He felt Eames’s fingers slide over his back softly, causing the occasional shiver while also causing his body to melt. “G’night,” he murmured tiredly.

 

“Arthur, it’s not even lunch time yet,” Eames chuckled, sounding tired but more conscious and awake.

 

“We’ll get dinner later,” he gave the other man a kiss just to shut him up before tucking his head down into the warm crook of Eames’s neck and shoulder and falling asleep.

 

He had to admit that he was somewhat surprised to find Eames still in bed with him when he woke up, especially considering the fact that the man seemed wide awake. He hoped he had not forced his companion into staying in bed as he checked the hotel clock; he had been asleep for a little over two hours. “Sleep well, darling?” Eames smiled at him lazily, fingers combing through his hair familiarly.

 

“Yes,” he gave a tiny smile in return as he stretched, groaning in relief at the pleasant feeling of tired and sore muscles moving and stretching. “You?”

 

“Well I enjoyed watching _you_ sleep,” Eames chuckled, giving a small shrug at his raised eyebrow.

 

“That’s a little creepy,” he pulled away to stand up and stretch his muscles further. “And so is staring at my ass when I’m stretching.”

 

“That’s not creepy, pet,” Eames smirked, sitting up in bed indolently, “It’s a compliment. You should be thanking me.” Despite his chidings a second before, Arthur did not attempt to hide his gaze as he skimmed his eyes over Eames’s newly exposed body.

 

“Gee, _thanks_,” he rolled his eyes and looked around the room for suitable clothing. He was not really interested in pulling his suit back on, especially with the state of his body post-sex. “Do you have something comfortable I can change into when I’m done showering?”

 

“Yeah, check the top drawer on the right,” Eames threw the covers aside and stood up, stretching as well.

 

“You put your clothes in the dresser? Did Cobb say how long we were going to be here for this job?” he raised an eyebrow at the implication that they would be here for a while as he went to the recommended drawer and pulled out a pair of pyjama pants. He considered commenting on the bright red plaid design but kept his mouth shut as he fished his boxers out of the pile of his former outfit.

 

“He didn’t say exactly but it sounded like it could be a longer term job since he suggested I unpack,” Eames found his own boxers and pulled out a similar pair of pyjama pants. Arthur gave a startled moan when Eames leaned over and skimmed one finger up his inner thigh. His lover grinned mischievously when he pulled away, fingers coated in come. “We should probably let him know that we’ll be sharing a room so that he can save some money. At least...” Eames continued hesitantly at his surprised look, “I thought it would make sense...?”

 

“That’s not why I’m looking at you oddly; yes that makes sense. But do you really think we should...tell Cobb this?” he asked nervously, unwilling to lose his dream job a few hours after he was given the position.

 

“As long as it doesn’t interfere with our work, I don’t see why he would mind. And we’re both professional—okay; _you _are professional enough for both of us combined. But either way, I think he already knows, pet,” Eames followed him into the bathroom as if he had been invited.

 

“What makes you say that?” he asked, throwing his boxers and Eames’s pants on the counter and finding a fluffy towel waiting on the rack.

 

“Just a hunch.”

 

He raised an eyebrow but turned his attention to the tap to turn on the water to the right temperature, “What are you still doing in here?”

 

“We’re showering,” Eames answered, as if it was obvious and Arthur was being dense.

 

“_I’m_ showering,” he clarified, “You will just slow down the process.”

 

“But darling...” his companion gave him that pouting face from the first day, lower lip jutted out teasingly.

 

“No,” he restated as he stepped under the hot spray.

 

“_Arthur_...?” the man whined.

 

He sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance. Why, exactly, had he wanted to spend the rest of his life with this man? “Fine.”

 

Eames jumped into the shower and they cleaned one another off quickly, Eames spending a long time massaging shampoo into his hair and causing him to groan happily. Then Eames did things to him that made him shout embarrassing things, desecrate the tiled wall of the shower, and forced both of them to begin the cleaning process all over again. Just as he predicted, the shower turned into a ridiculously lengthy one, his fingers growing wrinkled as the spray grew chilled.

 

Sometime later they found themselves on the tiny balcony of Eames’s room, wrapped up in pyjamas and soft bathrobes. There was a small plate of ordered food on the table between them despite the fact that the room had a miniature kitchenette in it. And they had also decided to split a bottle of wine in celebration for everything they had experienced, what they had accomplished, and all of the possibilities in their future.

 

They were sharing a tiny bench, their situation not as comfortable as their night of Truth or Dare. But it was also warmer that evening in Paris, the end of the summer keeping the breeze balmy. He was tucked under Eames’s protective arm and nestled against his side with his half drained wine glass resting loosely in one hand. They were both skimming their eyes over the view they had from their balcony; they could not see the Eiffel Tower but there were a lot of interesting buildings he had seen in books in his direct view. “Arthur?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Have you ever been to Paris before?” Eames asked curiously, tearing his gaze away from the view to look down at him.

 

“Only the airport, though I’ve done some reading on the city.” He ignored Eames’s ‘why-am-I-not-surprised’ eye roll and continued, “Why?”

 

“Well, my love, I have not been to Paris either. And I was wondering if you would be interested in starting a new adventure with me as we saw the sights together,” Eames gave him a sideways hug, not able to do much more with their current positions.

 

He thought about how much traveling they would do as a team for their jobs, and how many new cities they would visit for their first time. The fact that he had such amazing teammates was already incredibly lucky; Cobb seeming to be an excellent leader while he knew without a doubt that Eames would always be there to back him up and support him in his endeavours without question. But it slowly began to dawn on him that he and his companion would get many opportunities to sightsee together - to share those experiences and adventures.

 

He glanced over the skyline for another moment before he glanced up from where his head was resting to meet Eames’s caring eyes. He felt his heart flutter at the love in those beautiful blue green eyes and his thoughts raced at the idea of what Paris held for them. So much had already happened in San Francisco and he was excited to find out how this relationship might continue to develop as they continued to share these experiences.

 

He stretched up to drop a chaste kiss on those lips, sweet with wine, before he pulled away and gave the man a rare grin, “I would love to start a new adventure with you, Eames.”


	14. Day Seven: Eames

**Day Seven**

** _Eames_ **

 

He woke up a few minutes before his alarm went off, a habit he had picked up many years previously. He clicked it off hurriedly before it disturbed his lover, who was still curled up in his arms and pressed against his chest. He ran one finger up and down Arthur’s arm affectionately for a moment, unwilling to tear himself away. He knew that the moment he pulled himself out of bed he would be beginning his process of leaving this man behind, most likely forever. It was not something you could easily motivate yourself to start.

 

But as he glanced over at the clock again he felt his stomach drop at the time and realized that he had no choice but to get up. He could either tuck his head against Arthur and fall back into a blissful sleep, missing his plane and basically giving a permanent ‘fuck you’ to his employer and his future job, or he could get up. He knew what he had to do since they had both made their decision already; he couldn’t force Arthur into changing his mind now.

 

So he carefully extracted himself from behind Arthur, trying to leave him sleeping as he slipped out of bed and began searching for his clothes. He was not planning on leaving without saying goodbye, no matter how difficult a face-to-face parting would be, but he saw no reason why Arthur could not get a little extra sleep while he packed his clothes. Yet, as it usually happened when dealing with Arthur, things did not go according to plan and he heard his mark’s soft voice from the bed, “Eames?”

 

He nearly tripped over his pants, which he was trying to pull on as he moved back into view of the bed. “I was hoping I could let you sleep for a little longer,” he admitted, trying to alleviate that suddenly hurt look. Arthur had probably assumed the worst about him sneaking away without waking him.

 

Sure enough... “Were you just going to leave without saying anything?”

 

He was already halfway to the bed, expecting this assumption, and he leaned over to drop a reassuring kiss on the man’s lips; he would call them pouting, though he would never vocalize this, “Of course not. But I need to go pack. I figured you could get some extra sleep while I did that.”

 

“I could spend time in your room while you packed,” Arthur suggested, though he did not sound like he was planning on pressing the matter, much to Eames’s relief.

 

The thought of Arthur trotting over to his room and curling up in a new bed while he packed was sort of adorable to consider, but he did not know how he would manage to explain away his PASIV device. If Arthur knew what it was and recognized it he would be in serious trouble; though if Arthur did not know what it was he would probably be curious enough to pester him anyway.  “Just stay in that warm bed,” he smiled, returning to his goal of finding his shirt, “I’ll be back soon.”

 

He knew Arthur was tracking his movements as he found his clothes from yesterday and tugged them on, half lost in a mountain of pillows. When he was ready to go he snatched the man’s key card and sent him a wink, ignoring his desire to curl back up in bed with Arthur. He looked so cozy. And Eames was absolutely _not_ a morning person, which only added to his desire of returning to bed.

 

But instead he headed out of the door and hurried to his own room, wanting to finish packing as quickly as possible so that he might have a bit more time with Arthur before he had to head to the airport. He wished he had thought to pack yesterday while Arthur was sleeping away the remainder of his migraine, but he had somewhat considered the possibility that they would part after dancing. After all, they had only known one another for a week and neither of them seemed the type to just rush into bed.

 

Nonetheless, he searched his room for misplaced or forgotten personal belongings, changing into the suit he had brought just for the occasion of meeting with his employer in the process. He slipped the PASIV device, not nearly as used as he had originally planned, into his suitcase and turned to wrap up the painting from Arthur carefully. He was hoping that the airport might have fragile baggage options so he could be sure it would not be damaged during his trip.

 

One of the last things he came across was the chain he had bought for Arthur in Chinatown. He pulled it out of its packaging and looked it over contemplatively for a few moments, wondering if he should give it to Arthur or whether he should stuff it away and forget about it forever. He did not think the other man would like wearing jewellery; nor did he think Arthur would appreciate the sentiment behind it. It was, after all, very personal and quite a large promise to make. It was something very heavy to carry around with you, never knowing if they would ever meet again.

 

But he decided that it was a promise he wanted to make to his companion so he would at least try. Arthur would still be able to reject his offer if he chose, but he would hate himself for backing out of something that seemed to hold such an important weight between them. He packed the necklace in his suitcase carefully, deciding that he would make his final choice in the moment when Arthur was there beside him. He would be able to decide what was right then, able to pick up on the mood and the other man’s disposition.

 

Once he was sure he had everything he turned off all the lights, smirking minutely at seeing his untouched bed. It had been a bit of a waste of money on his employer’s end, but it made him feel possessively affectionate at the thought of Arthur waiting in bed for him next door. He left the room and entered Arthur’s again, rolling his suitcase out of the way and delicately setting the painting beside it before heading over to the bed.

 

He lay down on the mattress beside Arthur, who still looked half asleep. They chatted and bantered lightly for a few moments, both of them clearly straining to keep the atmosphere cheerful despite the time. He slowly felt his smile grow less genuine as he kept it on his face, and his laughter fell away as he thought about how little time he had left with Arthur. It seemed unfair, as he stared at the ceiling sullenly, that time would not stop for anyone.

 

“When do you have to leave?” the inevitable question finally came.

 

He sighed, “Soon. I took longer than I meant to and I’ll probably need to grab breakfast at the airport now.” He felt Arthur shift before the man’s head came to rest on his shoulder, a small comfort that made his heart hurt. It was the small touches and gestures that he would miss the most because they spoke volumes more than words ever could. “...Arthur?” he began hesitantly.

 

“Yeah?”

 

He bit his lip nervously, “...There’s something I want to give you, but I don’t know if I should.” He could not remember the last time he felt so uncertain about something, wondering how Arthur would react and whether or not he should just forget about it entirely. As ridiculous as it seemed, he felt like he was about to do something as important and life changing as proposing.

 

“What is it?” Arthur sat up, sounding curious. He spared a moment to skim his eyes over Arthur’s bare form, sheets pooling around his middle, before he sat up as well. He considered just explaining what he had but decided that, if he was going to do this, he was going to do it right.

 

He pulled out the small package and returned to the bed, shoving it into Arthur’s grasp before he could panic and back out again. He remained silent as his mark sent him a confused look before opening up the bag. But when the tiny box fell into Arthur’s waiting palm, his nervousness took over, “I got it in Chinatown that day we visited. I’ll understand if you don’t like it or don’t want to wear it or--”

 

“Eames, breathe.” Arthur’s words halted his rambling and he took a sudden, anxious breath. He forced himself to remain silent and keep all of his hidden insecurities about the gift locked away in his head as he fidgeted on the bed. He was so unaccustomed to being this nervous that he fidgeted. This was a bizarre moment for him since having control over his body’s movements and expressions was what he was normally most skilled at. But as it usually seemed to be with his mark, Arthur appeared to be a constant exception to his daily life. “Eames...” Arthur whispered when he opened up the box, sounding more shocked than anything else.

 

He felt his heart plummet in embarrassment and disappointment, his eyes trained on the duvet. What the hell had he been _thinking_? “I knew you wouldn’t like it—you’re not a jewellery person. It was a stupid idea, I just wasn’t thinking. You really don’t have to wear it--”

 

Wanting to end this humiliation as soon as possible he made to grab for the box, but Arthur pulled it out of his reach when he tried. “Eames,” he began again, catching his attention, “I love it.”

 

“What, _really_?” he had to keep his jaw from dropping, suddenly seeing what he had missed a moment earlier. Before he had thought Arthur sounded shocked because he could never imagine wearing jewellery like that. But what he saw now on that normally masked face was awe and heartfelt appreciation. “I didn’t think you would want to wear anything like this,” he confessed softly as he watched Arthur carefully pick up the chain from the velvet it was resting on.

 

“I don’t generally wear jewellery,” his mark agreed, taking great care as he handled the chain, “But you have become the epitome of an exception in my life this week; I figure I can make one more exception.” He felt warm at the realization that even though they were two very different people, they had found someone in each other who could make them reconsider the way they had come to live their life. He was grateful to Arthur for opening his eyes to new things and prodding him out of his shell to open himself up again – and making him feel safe while he did this. He was pleased that he had done the same for Arthur. “What do the symbols mean?”

 

Now that his gift was not only accepted but loved as well, he felt his nerves turn to confidence as his excitement bubbled up inside him. He shuffled closer to carefully take the chain from his mark’s hands, pointing out the different symbols as he talked. “Every piece of jewellery was unique with different meanings. I chose this one because the chain’s weave represents devotion while these charms mean trust and honesty. I got this as a sort of...promise to you, Arthur.” He stared at Arthur intently, wanting him to realize the weight he was putting on this chain. “We may be saying goodbye today, but I promise that the next time we see each other I will explain everything to you. I want you to wear this to remember that.”

 

“Don’t you mean, ‘if we see each other again’?” Arthur corrected without enthusiasm.

 

“No, I mean ‘when’,” he restated, trying to ignore the part of his mind that was telling him that real life did not turn out like fairy tales. “I’m not a huge fan of believing in fate but I can’t believe caring this much about you and never seeing you again. It’s just unfathomable...so I plan to believe that it is just meant to be.” He was riveted by Arthur’s eyes, which were lit up brightly with a cautious hope despite the dimness of the room. He drew random designs on the man’s skin with his fingertips, feeling his nervous excitement dominating, “So...will you agree to wear it, knowing what I’m promising?”

 

“Yes,” Arthur nodded, though his hand stopped him as he leaned forward to put the chain around his lover’s neck. “But only if you’ll allow me to place the same promise on it for you.”

 

He felt elated at the returning promise, never having ever hoped for something like this. He could tell that Arthur was taking this just as seriously as he was, which made him feel a new level of fondness for this man. He was in the exact same position so he knew how dangerous and scary making this sort of promise could be. After all, the truth could cause Arthur to never speak to him again. But for now he would be happy with their promises for a new day and leaned closer to catch Arthur in a faithful kiss. “I look forward to the day, love.”

 

He placed a hand on Arthur’s head to tilt it down slightly, leaning forward to securely fasten the chain around his companion’s neck. His heart was racing so fast he wondered if he should get on one knee or something else equally ceremonial. When he was finished, and he was sure the clasp was done up properly, he tilted Arthur’s face back up at the perfect angle to meet those lips pensively.

 

Eames had meant for the kiss to be short and sweet but once their lips met he was unable to find the determination to pull away. He lightly pushed Arthur back, leaning him down onto the mattress to make their positioning more relaxed. As much as he wanted to straddle the man’s hips and pin him into the sheets possessively, he knew for a fact that choosing that would ultimately lead to him missing his plane. So he settled for sprawling his upper body over Arthur, suit fabric fluttering around him as he cradled the man close.

 

As their lips moved, he took advantage of Arthur’s lack of clothing to skim the tips of his fingers dotingly, smiling into the kiss at all of the tiny shivers it sent through his companion’s body. He also made sure to memorize each twitch and quirk of those now-swollen lips as he found sensitive patches of skin and abused them mercilessly. He could hardly believe how happy kissing Arthur still made him, or how strong his feelings became when he saw his gift resting against the man’s flexing neck. He knew he had failed horribly at maintaining his distance from his mark, giving himself up completely to a near stranger after years of hiding himself away. But he had to admit, if only to himself, that failure had never felt so wonderful.

 

Of course, the moment had to eventually shatter. It happened when he accidentally saw the gleaming red numbers of the hotel room clock as he pulled away slightly to memorize another image of Arthur, panting below him with his chain skewed and pooling in the hollow of his throat. He pulled away fully when he realized the time; if he did not leave this minute he would be out of a job. “Fuck!”

 

Once he was sitting up he began moving towards the edge of the bed, but Arthur suddenly grabbed his shoulders tightly and tackled him to the mattress. He fell over and found Arthur pinning him steadily to the mattress, half on top of him with the sheet barely covering him. “Stay,” was the only thing his lover said, though he could feel his heart begin to crumble at the plea.

 

It was hard to swallow as he pulled the man down into what he hoped was a comforting embrace, “I want to, love.” He felt Arthur hug him back just as tightly, pinning him down with his weight now, “You know I want to.” There was nothing he wanted more in this moment than for this to turn out differently; go back and tell Arthur everything from the start and go from there. Or better yet, meet Arthur in a chance encounter, rather than have him as a mark. But this was reality, not a dream, and there was nothing he could do to change that.

 

“We can tear our plane tickets to pieces, go somewhere else together,” Arthur would not meet his gaze but he could see a few tears being dragged down the man’s cheeks by gravity.

 

“Arthur...” he caught the man’s chin to pull that gaze up, brushing away the tears before the other man could grow embarrassed about them. He pushed down his own regret and dread and forced himself to be strong, at least on the outside. It would not help Arthur through this situation if he began crying through this encounter as well. Nor would it be productive for him to break down and rip his ticket to shreds now. He didn’t know what it was that Arthur needed to do after this week, but he could not live with himself if he pulled his mark away from something that was clearly so important to him. “That’s not the man I fell in love with. Whatever it is that is pulling you away from me, you’re going to be your usual professional, perfect self and be amazing, alright? You are not the type of man to drop everything blindly and I refuse to be the one that makes you give up everything.”

 

They were both silent for a few long minutes as Arthur tucked his head under Eames’s chin. He tried to ignore the hair tickling his throat and the knowledge that he was already becoming dangerously late, unable to imagine leaving his companion in this state without knowing he would be okay. “Are you alright, darling?” He felt a few warm tears fall onto his skin and slide away to the sheets and decided that he had to be strong for the both of them – he could hate life and cry later, after Arthur had been taken care of. “...I have to go.”

 

“Yes, you need to be at the airport soon,” his mark brushed away his residue tears in frustration before pulling away. He was still naked under the sheets so Eames did not mind the other man remaining under the covers for their goodbye. “Have a safe trip and good luck with everything...Have a good life.”

 

“Yes, you too, love,” he dropped one last, faltering kiss on Arthur’s lips and hoped that his lips were able to express his feelings and goodbye better than his awkward words. He pulled himself off the bed slowly, just in case the other man wanted to ask him to stay one more time. He was almost hopefully that Arthur _would_ ask just one more time, knowing he could not deny the request again. He could even talk himself into believing that he would not be the only one altering his decision. But the request never came and he grabbed his painting and suitcase carefully, “Well...goodbye, Arthur.”

 

“Goodbye, Eames,” the final goodbye came from the bed, both of them sharing a longing look across the room.

 

He found himself unable to speak, so without another word he turned away from the man who had become so much more than he ever thought possible and forced himself to leave the room. Once the door clicked shut he stilled, standing in the alcove silently and feeling lost. He felt the tears he had been holding back begin to build up and spill over as he blinked, wetting his cheeks noiselessly. He wanted Arthur to open up the door, pull him back in, and never let him go. Where was he going now? He may be on his way to getting his dream job, but it felt as if he was stepping away from the only thing in his life that made him feel like he belonged.

 

Angry at his indecision and the fact that Arthur did not come for him, he allowed himself one moment of weakness. He kicked the wallpapered wall, starting a dull throb in his foot, before rushing down the hallway. He could not stand in front of his lover’s room for another second longer without doing something stupid. He moved so quickly in his rush that he was at the elevators a few short seconds later. It was just as he pressed the button to call the elevator that he heard a door slam, the sound echoing through the hollowed out lobby.

 

“Arthur?” he whispered hopefully, stepping away from the elevators to glance down the hallway. When his companion did not step out into view, he was forced to admit that it must have been someone else on a different floor; the sound would have traveled easily throughout the hotel. He couldn’t breathe for a moment, his lungs seeming to stop working as disappointment and heartbreak coursed through him.

 

But there was nothing else to do so he stepped into the waiting elevator and headed down to the lobby to pick up his ticket. He wiped away his tears angrily on his sleeve, frustrated with his outward expression of his weakness and pain. He felt like a spotlight was on him as he picked up his ticket and headed for the front entranceway, tense and aware that his eyes were red and he looked like a mess. Even though he knew no one actually cared enough about a stranger to take notice, it was an uncomfortable trip downstairs and through the airport.

 

Since it was still relatively early in the morning there were no long lines. But even with this miracle, he barely made it to his gate on time to board his plane after his unwillingness to leave Arthur. He snagged a muffin mid-dash towards his gate while the final boarding call was blared over the announcement system, and he made it to the gate just before the doors closed. “Wait!” he yelled to catch the attendant’s attention, struggling for breath. “I have a ticket.”

 

The flight attendant gave him a disapproving look but took his ticket and passport, scanning him in and nodding him towards the doors. Another attendant was holding them open for him so he thanked them and rushed down the small hallway and into the plane. He was pleasantly surprised to find that he was in a first class seat, wondering how his employer had so much money to spare. He knew for a fact that his employer was not new to the dream work business, but he was still rather young to have so much disposable wealth.

 

But he didn’t complain as he fell down into a plush chair and began devouring his muffin while waiting for them to reach cruising altitude. As soon as the seatbelt light turned off he ordered more food, not having realized how starving he had been until he began to eat. He hoped absentmindedly that Arthur had gotten some food to eat as well and was handling things alright; his mind simply couldn’t comprehend the idea that it was no longer his responsibility to make sure the other man was alright. No matter how many times he told himself this, and also reminded himself that Arthur was more than capable of taking care of himself, he still found himself fidgeting in his seat.

 

He realized that he was annoying the business man sitting beside him so he finished off his food and tried to find a movie to distract himself with. He began three different movies before stopping them ten minutes in, realizing they were all romantic comedies that would turn out perfectly. Then he skipped over the depressing stuff and eventually ended up watching cartoons, nothing else suiting his temperament.

 

He was able to sleep for part of the flight, though it was a light sleep that passed the time more than rejuvenated his tired mind and body. Because of this, he dragged his feet when the plane landed in Paris, France, in the evening and hoped that he would be able to have his interview the next day. His mood was not improved when he stepped out into the terminal with the rest of the passengers and was forced to witness a multitude of heart-warming reunions.

 

There had been a large swarm of people waiting to meet up with passengers, and although he thought he had been doing well before, his progress immediately crashed and burned. He watched with a heavy feeling in his stomach as families, friends and lovers were reunited outside of the gate. Laughter, smiles, embraces, tears and kisses were exchange and he rushed away towards baggage claim before his stinging eyes could do something more embarrassing. Even though he could never imagine Arthur dashing towards him and jumping into his arms during a reunion, it was a pleasant and amusing image that he cherished in a quiet part of his mind.

 

He retrieved his bag and carefully-wrapped painting - fully intact - before he stumbled upon a driver holding up his name outside the arrivals lobby. He wandered over, “Um, bonjour?” he asked hesitantly, using the extent of his knowledge of French. Not knowing what else to say, he pointed at the sign and then at himself.

 

His driver rolled his eyes mildly and led him to the waiting town car, “This way, please.”

 

He felt foolish, wishing he had just spoken English to begin with. But they rode in relative silence and he spent the time watching the passing scenes. The sun had set already so he could not see very much, but decided that if he got the job he would probably have some time to sightsee while he was here. The thought of sightseeing without Arthur was a disappointing plan, dulling his enthusiasm, so he told himself that he would do the sightseeing for both of them.

 

They arrived at a rather nice hotel and he thanked the driver before heading into the lobby. The reception spoke English, thankfully, and took down his information with a welcoming smile. The man at the desk handed him a key card and wished him a good night, explaining that his luggage would be taken up to his room for him. “I’ll hold onto this, if that’s alright, mate,” he kept a protective hold over his painting as the bellboy came over to take his suitcase away.

 

“Of course, of course,” the receptionist nodded before pointing him in the direction of the elevators.

 

He ducked into a free elevator, painting tucked carefully under one arm until he reached the room number corresponding with the number on his mystery key card. He was unsure about whether this was his room or not, especially considering the fact that he had not been allowed to bring his own luggage up. Feeling hesitant, he knocked. A moment later the door swung open and a beautiful stranger was standing in front of him, “Mr. Eames, I presume?” she asked with a warm smile and a musical accent.

 

“Um, yes, hello,” he shuffled his feet, still unsure of who she was or where his employer was.

 

“Please come in,” she waved him into the room, closing the door behind him. “Dom, darling, your Forger is here,” she called into the room before noticing his painting, “That is very beautiful.”

 

“It is,” he smiled, both of them able to see the design through the wrappings.

 

She seemed to notice his fond smile because she raised one perfect eyebrow, “It seems to mean a great deal to you.”

 

He immediately scolded himself on acting so unprofessional and open in front of a stranger. He had to remember that he was no longer in front of Arthur and push aside his residue sense of openness and ease. Despite the fact that he should have never felt that for his mark to begin with, it had happened; but it had to stop this minute. “Yes, it is one of my favourites,” he answered vaguely, schooling his face back into a neutral one.

 

“Ah, Eames, glad you made it,” his employer came around the corner at that moment, looking pleased. Eames set his painting against the wall carefully in order to put it out of the way and give the other man his full attention as they shook hands. “I am sure you’re exhausted from your travels but I hope you will not protest to talking tonight.”

 

“No, of course not,” he answered easily. Why would he complain when he was trying to get this job? He had already sacrificed enough for it.

 

“Well first things first, I would like to introduce to you my wife and the most brilliant Architect I have ever known, Mallorie Cobb,” Dom spoke as they moved towards some chairs further into the room to sit down.

 

He jealously watched the affectionate smile that the two shared for a moment before Mal turned to him to shake his hand formally. Between the sorrow in his chest and his surprise over being introduced to Cobb’s wife before he was given the job, it was a challenge to place a smiling mask over his face as he returned the handshake politely, “Pleasure to meet you.”

 

He had remembered his employer explaining that he would only be introduced to his Architect after he had been given a job, which he had accepted as perfectly fair in order to keep everyone safe. But he had not even told Cobb anything about his week in San Francisco yet or demonstrated his skills based on what he had observed from his mark. Did this mean that he was already part of the team? He forced himself to keep his hope down to a reasonable level, not wanting to jump to conclusions.

 

They offered him some dinner but he turned them down politely, feeling too nervous to enjoy the thought of food. Mal asked him a few superficial questions about how San Francisco was before she excused herself for the evening, leaving him with Cobb as the man began setting up a PASIV device. “The one you leant me is in my suitcase,” he offered uselessly.

 

“That’s fine; I’ll get it from you tomorrow,” Cobb gave him a reassuring smile as he adjusted the settings on the device and handed him a lead. “So I would like for you to take on the persona of your mark when we go down and show me how convincing you can really be. Obviously I will be aware of the fact that you are not truly your mark, so you should just try to be as convincing as you can. Sound fair?”

 

“Yes,” he agreed, slipping the needle under his skin in a mirror action to his employer. He watched as Cobb started up the machine and heard the whirring sound that indicated it was working before his eyes drifted closed.

 

When he regained awareness he found himself standing in a fancy bathroom, empty except for himself and his army of reflections with the surrounding mirrors. He quickly took on Arthur’s form, taking special care to slick back that hair perfectly, do up his tie properly, and make sure that the man’s hazel streak in his eyes was visible. He stood in front of the full length mirror, assessing his work and looking for any flaws. It was surprisingly easily to forget for just one moment that it was not really Arthur standing in front of him. But he shoved that down to remain suppressed in his mind alongside his guilt and exited the washroom to find Cobb.

 

It was not a difficult task to find the other man as he walked out into a semi-crowded bar lounge and restaurant. He found the blonde man sipping a drink at the bar, as if he really was just waiting to meet up with someone. As he walked up and greeted Cobb, using Arthur’s precise way of speaking that he used when he was in ‘professional’ mode, it was extremely easy to leave his troubles behind. Arthur was the type to not let anything bother him when he was in the process of business and he had to recreate that, so he allowed himself to fall away and became his mark entirely. That was already what he had to do for this job audition; if it helped him deal with his grief at the same time then all the better.

 

They found a somewhat secluded booth so that they would not need to raise their voices to be heard. He ordered a drink, a mojito to honour his first evening with Arthur even if they were not his favourite type of drink. He was not quite sure what to expect in terms of the questions he would be asked to answer as his mark, but the audition maintained an air of business mixed with casual throughout.

 

There were some questions about politics and economics, while a wide majority of the questions circled around the week in San Francisco. He realized that Cobb was watching him for the way he held himself, the way he spoke, and the expressions he gave while answering the questions more so than paying attention to his actual responses. That made sense, of course, since his job was to recreate Arthur’s personality rather than know every single fact about him.

 

He described the sights of San Fransico the way he thought Arthur would word it, even if it was more subdued than some of the reactions he had been allowed to privately witness. He attempted to keep his facial expressions to a minimum, indulging in the subtle changes that his mark often used. They were easy enough to notice once you were really looking for them – or maybe that was just because he was so observant – but he assumed they were made purposefully hard to catch if you weren’t paying attention. It seemed that, based on how touched Arthur seemed to be when Eames spoke about his personality, that his former companion really appreciated when people truly put in the effort.

 

Cobb responded to him easily, seemingly impressed and pleased with how well he was doing. He lost track of time, sole focus on portraying Arthur from his memories, though he kept the more private and personal postures and expressions hidden away. He would allow a small smile here or there but knew from experience that his mark would absolutely never use some of the more relaxed postures and expressive faces in public. He had only gotten the opportunity to see those when they were in bed together, cuddling or after the other man had fallen asleep. They were his to cherish.

 

Before he realized how long it had been, he felt a jerky drop of gravity and the next moment he found himself back in his chair in the hotel. He felt very confident about his performance...until he saw Cobb’s expression. The man was looking at him like he was trying to complete a puzzle and one piece had gone missing. He wanted to ask what was wrong but remained silent, waiting for his employer to speak first. “Eames...I have to say I am very impressed with your abilities. I have met Arthur once and he’s a very...complicated man to understand.”

 

“You’ve met Arthur?” he asked immediately before he could think. Even the compliment passed over his head in his surprise.

 

Cobb raised an eyebrow and leaned back slightly in his chair. “Once,” Cobb repeated and only with that word did he realize what he had actually said. “Eames I have to ask...you seem to have a very...close knowledge of your mark.”

 

He felt a sense of dread that he tried to crush down, “Well that was my job.”

 

“Eames, you already have the job so you can relax,” the man tried to reassure him, looking a little amused at the same time. “But as a member of my team, I require that you be honest with me. I need to know that you’re not going to get this close to every one of your marks, and that this will not interfere with your work.”

 

“No, no of course not,” he shook his head immediately, nearly standing in his shock at suddenly being told he already had the job. He forced himself to remain sitting, wanting to assure his official employer that he would not regret his decision. “No, this is not my normal method at all. I decided to suggest sightseeing to get to know him personally but then things continued...But I can assure you that it will never happen again. Arthur was...”

 

“Special?” Cobb asked, leaning his chin on his hand while he watched him knowingly.

 

He forced himself to remain calm, ignoring the flustered feeling making it hard to think. “I’m not sure I’d use the word_ special_, per se...”

 

“I would,” Dom gave him a comforting smile. He stopped his ramblings before they could get into full swing and fell silent, watching his employer nervously.

 

Why was he smiling like that? “Why?”

 

“Because when you talk about him, you get the same smile I do when I speak about my wife,” Cobb gave him a subdued smirk, looking a little smug at his astonishment. “It’s not a crime, Eames.”

 

He brushed the hair out of his face messily, taking a steadying breath, “Well I promise that it won’t happen again and it won’t interfere with my work. He’s gone now so...” he shrugged, his exhaustion suddenly compounding his sense of dull sadness.

 

“How about you go get some sleep? You must be exhausted from the flight. Unpack all of your things and you can come by tomorrow at around...oh, let’s say nine in the morning. We can discuss the job more then,” Cobb stood from the chair and Eames mirrored the action, feeling drained. “I’m glad to have you on the team, Eames,” the other man shook his hand once more before handing him a new key card. “Sleep well and don’t be late tomorrow.”

 

“I’m really grateful to be on the team,” he finally remembered to thank the man for the job, feeling unbalanced by the accidental revelation. Cobb gave him a smile and nodded and he was even more grateful with the man’s understanding of his situation. The other man did not know exactly what had happened between Eames and his mark, but he clearly had some inkling of understanding. He was unbelievably relieved that it had not cost him his job because he was not sure what he would do if he lost Arthur and his dream job in the same twenty four hours. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning,” he promised as he picked up his painting and allowed the door to close behind him.

 

He wandered down the bland hallways tiredly until he found his room, slipping in and turning a few lights on. Before doing anything else, he fully unwrapped his painting and set it on the dresser where he would be able to see it from the bed. He took a moment to himself to stare at the painting, smiling at the coy smiles on the sun and moon. After that he began unpacking the majority of his clothes, never one to live out of a suitcase effectively.

 

He took a short shower to wipe away the grimy feeling that came from traveling before crawling into his double bed. It was much smaller than he had gotten used to in San Francisco but he silently wished that it was a single so that it wouldn’t feel quite so empty. As he lay there in the dark silence, cold and empty sheets surrounding him, he tried to keep himself from falling into his depressing thoughts. It was very difficult to keep his mind from wandering to Arthur with his exhaustion, wondering how the other man was holding up - what he was doing at that very moment. He swallowed past an insistent lump in his throat and turned onto his side to face away from the middle of the bed, wishing that tomorrow would just hurry up and arrive already; he needed a distraction.

 

His wish was realized when he eventually felt his eyes drift closed, his thoughts fading away to a dreamless sleep. But when he woke up to the sound of his hotel clock blaring, he still found it a huge challenge to rustle up the motivation to get himself out of bed. He slammed a hand down on the alarm’s button, thankful that he had set it even though he couldn’t remember when he had done so. He saw that it was eight in the morning, giving him an hour to talk himself into getting up and getting ready before he had to meet up with Cobb to discuss the job.

 

His mood was not nearly as difficult to manage as the night before thanks to his sleep. He had never been able to control his emotions and thoughts as effectively as normal when he was severely lacking sleep; it shouldn’t be a surprise that it was an even bigger challenge after splitting with Arthur. But he quickly kicked himself into gear and began getting ready, ordering some breakfast for the room as he went about his business. He thought about how Arthur would yell at him for being a lazy ass and chide him about moping around and not being productive. He knew that someday he would need to be able to find motivation for himself again, but for now this worked.

 

By the time he was ready and had finished his breakfast it was already a little after nine. Worried about making a bad impression on his first day, he snatched both key cards up and dashed out of the room, heading down to Cobb’s room. He slipped the correct card into the slot and pushed the door open, expecting Cobb and Mal to already be discussing the job. Instead, what he saw caused him to stumble to a stop, forgetting how to breathe.

 

His first thought at seeing Arthur jump out of his chair and stare at him across the room was one of confusion; his still somewhat-sleepy brain struggled to catch up with the situation. What was Arthur doing here? The next thought was a nearly undeniable desire to cross the room and sweep the other man up into an embrace, possibly pushing him into the nearest surface and kissing the life out of him. The third one, as his brain slowly sped up, was a suspicious one – why did his mark look so guilty and why was he talking to Cobb?

 

He looked from one man to the other quickly, trying to assess the situation. Cobb’s words from the night before came back to him – he had met Arthur once before. Then he returned his thoughts back to memories of the last week, backtracking through small tidbits of information he had wheedled from his mark. Everything suddenly began to make a whole lot of shocking, awful sense. Just as Arthur had been _his_ mark...he had been _Arthur’s_ mark.

 

The thought that the entire week had only been Arthur doing his job was almost too much to bear, an uncomfortable nausea churning his stomach. It had been so long since he had given himself up completely to someone else, growing accustomed to trusting only himself. And this was why he had done it; because betrayal was so utterly crushing. But even in comparison to everything else he had experienced in his life – all of the disappointment and heartbreak – there was nothing he could remember that had been this painful to endure.

 

Cobb’s voice suddenly disrupted his thought process, drawing his attention away from his former mark. “Based on what you have both told me, I’m sure this is quite a shock. I apologize for any issues this may have caused but consider this a shared audition. You have shown your own abilities as well as quite a bit about one another through your demonstrations, including your ability to cooperate and work together.”

 

“What are you talking about?” he heard Arthur’s voice for the first time since he had left, and the discomfort in that tone put him on edge.

 

“I think you both know already,” Cobb glanced back and forth between them, looking at Eames with a bit of concern and probably wondering why he appeared to be glued to the carpet. “You have shown that Eames is cautious but very open and devoted to aiding the people he is close to, like I’m sure he will be with his team members. And in turn, he showed that you can be very dedicated to your work yet always consider and remain protective of the people you keep close.”

 

The other man’s words startled him; the way he spoke about Arthur’s apparent words gave him a glimmer of hope that it could have been more than just a job for both of them. But when Arthur continued staring at him he felt a little flustered, realizing that he had never actually said what Cobb proclaimed he had said, “I never said that when we talked.”

 

“You should know by now that not everything needs to be put into words for someone to know it is true,” Dom gave them both a knowing look. “But I can see that you both need some time to talk things over in private. Eames, you already have your room key and Arthur, here’s yours,” the blond man handed his former mark a similar key card. “You have a few days to sort things out and get accustomed to the city, but two days from now I want you both ready to start working on our first job together.”

 

As confused and unsure as he felt in that moment, suddenly finding himself alone in the hallway with Arthur, he was also thankful for his employer. Even though it was unlikely that Cobb had planned for him and Arthur to become this close, he had inadvertently given Eames the original chance to meet his mark. And now he was being given another chance to try to reconnect, providing him with the potential to make this continue beyond the original week they had assumed they had.

 

They headed towards his room and he began trying to figure out the best way to handle this situation without causing it to shatter around him...again. He knew Arthur well enough from studying him that the man was probably feeling a very similar sense of betrayal over realizing that he had approached him as a mark. The man was probably also feeling just as guilty as he was about having committed that betrayal in return; that guilt had been obvious back in San Francisco before all of this had come to light.

 

He knew that he had to deal with his own sense of guilt and betrayal in return but he trusted Arthur to explain things to him, just as he was planning to tell everything to Arthur like he had promised. But he knew that he would probably have to go first since his companion had continued to be a private person even when it was only Eames with him. He realized that he was willing to fulfill his promise to reveal everything first because he didn’t want them to lose their second chance just because they were both stubborn and used to keeping their thoughts and feelings hidden away.

 

With this thought in mind, his relief over having another opportunity to win Arthur over caused his nerves to tingle and his mind to wander as he opened the hotel door. Even though he knew they should talk before anything else, as soon as he heard the hotel door closed he spun around and pinned Arthur to the sturdy surface of the door.

 

He brought their lips together almost harshly in his desperation to feel Arthur’s lips move against his own again. He knew that he was overreacting since they had only been separated for a day, but after he had accepted the notion that he would never see or hold Arthur again, time had suddenly seemed to drag. Now it was jolted into a quick pace as the other man’s fingers dug into his hair and pulled him closer, clearly just as desperate and relieved as Eames was about the reunion.

 

But then he felt two warm palms come to rest on his chest and push him away lightly; it was not a callous push, but it was one that begged for physical space. He allowed himself to be pushed away, trying to catch his breath. “Eames, we need to talk. This isn’t something we can just ignore with a kiss. Aren’t you...angry? Something?”

 

“Of course I am,” he admitted seriously, a little hurt that Arthur would think he was the type of person who put something like this behind him with a quick make-out session. “I allowed myself to get closer to you than anyone else in my life and then I find out that it all happened because of some job. But I’ll be honest when I say that I’m more relieved than anything else, darling.”

 

“Okay...okay, but we still need to talk about this.” He nodded and stepped closer to Arthur, needing to know if the man had actually kept the chain and the promise they had both made around his neck. He struggled to loosen his companion’s tie before working on the shirt’s buttons, hearing the weak protest in the man’s voice as he whispered his name warningly.

 

“I just need to check something, love,” he allowed the term of endearment to fall from his tongue familiarly, his heart jumping happily as he saw his chain resting around Arthur’s neck. “You wore it...” he mumbled, using one hand to trace fingers along the line where skin met warm metal affectionately. Even though it was just a chain with some words attached to it, he suddenly felt more confident and comfortable about opening up to Arthur again – hoping beyond hope that he wore it to symbolize their promises.

 

“Of course I wore it,” his former mark hissed, sounding a little frustrated and offended. He could not help himself as he dropped a shallow kiss to the hollow of the other man’s neck, feeling unbelievably grateful for this second chance. He forced himself to step away to give his companion some space, just in time to see Arthur’s eyes dim with sadness. “I was beginning to think it had just been a sympathy gift though.”

 

“Arthur..._darling_,” he cooed, hating how uncertain he had made this normally-confident man. He hated the fact that he had betrayed Arthur after the man had worked up his courage and finally opened up to someone, allowing Eames to grow closer to him. But he was thankful that despite everything he had done against the other man, his former mark still trusted him enough to admit his fears. Now he needed to utilize that trust to prove to Arthur that this had not just been about a job – it had become so much more.

 

“I meant every promise I attached to that chain and I gave it to you out of love. I wanted to tell you everything for days, even though I knew it could make you hate me – it still could...but I owe you the explanation.” He looked at Arthur to assess the man’s thoughts, but Arthur was being a closed book. All he could tell was that the man was listening to him so he took a deep breath and proceeded to bear his soul. “Alright, well to start off I would like to say that everything I _did_ tell you was completely true. Even the thing about me being an actor; I just didn’t explain _everything_. I’m a dream worker and a Forger, which means I can recreate appearances and personas in the dream to use against the mark.”

 

He sat Arthur down on the edge of the bed, sitting beside him. Arthur seemed to gain some interest as he explained what he did in dream work. If this had been under other circumstances he would be excited to be having this discussion with his companion; he did not know exactly what Arthur did but based on the fact that he was working with Cobb as well, he could only assume it had something to do with dream work. As he thought back to what Eames had been looking for in a team a week ago, and at how amazingly supportive and kind Arthur had been during their time together, he could honestly not think of anyone he would be happier with as a teammate while he honed his skills.

 

He answered Arthur’s questions on his Forging skills, feeling a small wave of pride pass through him at the man’s obvious interest in the topic. But then he paused and changed tones, realizing that this discussion needed to be about much more than his line of work. If he ever wanted to regain Arthur’s trust and affection, he had to confess to everything and hope it would be enough. “...Anyway, I will admit that the first night I approached you, it was because of my job. It was not my normal method since I prefer observing from a distance, but I was desperate to impress Cobb and you seemed like an interesting mark. _But_, I want to assure you that not everything was for the job.”

 

Arthur refused to meet his gaze so he slid off the mattress to kneel in front of the other man, forcing him to meet his eyes. He was done going about this lightly; he was going to win Arthur back no matter what it took. He had to show Arthur that he understood how the other man was feeling, and explain to him why he could still trust Eames. Talk about a difficult task to accomplish; but the potential benefits vastly outweighed the risks. “I know you feel betrayed because I do as well, but you have _got_ to believe me when I say that what I felt for you was real. I know we have only been together for a ridiculously short amount of time, darling, I _know_ that.”

 

He made sure those soulful eyes were watching his steadily, watching them spark to life with cautious hope as Arthur began to soak in his words. “I realized I liked you when you returned that affectionate smile in our shared dream because it wasn’t just about lust at that point. It stopped being about the job when we were in the wax museum and I realized that I wanted nothing more than to hear your laughter again and again. I realized then that I didn’t want to just answer your questions to see your expressions – I wanted to tell you because I wanted to share myself with you.”

 

He gestured towards said painting, realizing that Arthur had not noticed it when he had entered the room since Eames had shoved him into a door and kissed him senseless. “You kept it,” Arthur spoke in apparent amazement, breathing the realization.

 

“Of course I kept it, love; it reminds me of _us_,” he finally admitted why he had been so drawn to the painting that day at Fisherman’s Wharf. He rested one hand on each of Arthur’s knees to regain his attention. He hoped that his last declaration would be enough to finally convince Arthur that it was safe to trust him again – that they still had a chance to continue on. “Arthur, once again I know that we have not known each other long, but I realized I loved you when you fainted at the redwoods. I have not felt such pure fear and despair in my life since my mother was killed. So you need to know that even though this all began because of a job, nothing was fake.”

 

He remained kneeling with bated breath as Arthur looked him over, considering him. And then those precise hands pulled away from his grasp and held his face fondly, tilting his lips up at the proper angle to meet his companion’s lips. He greedily returned the kiss, groaning blissfully at the unspoken acceptance of his explanation. Feeling playful, he twined his fingers in Arthur’s hair and tugged him forward. This caused their lips to part as they tumbled backwards, his back hitting the carpet uncomfortably before the other man fell on top of him, letting out an entertaining little gasp in his surprise.

 

Their lips connected again easily, as if they were doing something as familiar as breathing. But as his heart rate began to speed up and breathing became challenging, he pulled away with an amused chuckle at their combined enthusiasm; honestly, it was like they had been separated for years or something. But there was still a lingering sense of hurt and betrayal in him that could not be wiped away by all the sweet kisses in the world. He felt as light as a cloud after confessing everything to Arthur, pleased to finally have shared _everything_ with his love, but he needed the same in return. “No offense, love, but I’d really like to hear your side as well.”

 

Arthur pulled away quickly, looking guilty, but Eames lost his focus when the other man accidentally sat back directly where he _wanted_ Arthur, but not at that exact moment. He choked out a moan as his breath caught at the weight and warmth being pressed against him, trying not to complain when the other man got off him and sat against the mattress instead. He lay there, staring at the ceiling for a moment as he tried to calm his body down. He could feel that his cheeks were a little flushed but he got himself under control and sat up against the mattress as well, curious to hear Arthur’s side of the story.

 

He listened silently as Arthur finally answered the question about what he did; a Point Man in a dream worker team – it all fit together so well once he knew what Arthur’s actual role was. And as he thought about what the job entailed while also considering what he had learned about Arthur, he could not think of anyone better for the job. Cobb was a lucky man to have found him and gotten him on the team before anyone else could snatch him away.

 

His companion began to explain his time in San Francisco and Eames was pleased that the man was being entirely honest. Some part of him struggled with his cautious nature and doubts, having become naturally accustomed to distrusting others’ words and promises. But a lot of what Arthur was saying sounded very similar to what he had experienced, making it easier for him to believe that the man had just been in an equally complicated situation as he had been in.

 

He watched Arthur, feeling the glimmer of hope in his chest slowly bloom and grow as the man continued on with his explanation. He made sure not to interrupt his former mark during his long winded explanation, worried that the man might dwindle off if he lost his momentum. But he tried to keep a supportive expression on his face as he took in the man’s admittances, knowing from experience how incredibly scary and difficult it was to open yourself up entirely to someone else. It was giving someone everything they could ever need to destroy you and then having to trust in them not to cause you to shatter.

 

“None of it was a lie, except why I was asking questions and why I was really there. You have to believe me on that because I don’t know how else to make you understand how far I fell...” Arthur whispered nervously, meeting his gaze with a shyness that made him want to pull the man into a reassuring embrace. He kept his distance to allow the man some space to think, but it was difficult to keep himself from fidgeting as he continued to listen.

 

As Arthur began explaining to him some of the memories that had changed the development of their relationship for him, he revisited the memories in his mind. He could feel a small smile playing on his face at Arthur’s confession that he had enjoyed Eames pestering him, for the exact same reasons as Eames had predicted earlier. People had not often had the courage to put in the effort to truly get to know Arthur for who _he_ was, so even if Eames’s method had been an annoying one, Arthur had truly appreciated it.

 

The other memories being mentioned also brought a fond smile to his face: the moment they had stopped acting at odds with one another in the Ripley’s Museum; their evening playing Truth or Dare. Eames had only chosen the specific moments when the realization of his developing feelings for Arthur hit him to share with Arthur, but it would be a terrible understatement to say that those where the only moments that had changed his feelings. There were many others, scattered throughout the week that held moments of new affection, fondness, and ways of considering his travel companion.

 

“I fell in love with you when we were back from the redwoods and you just explained me to the very core, as if you had known me our entire lives. The fact that you had honestly put in that much effort to know the _real_ me was...well, it was enough to tear down my last defence,” Arthur finally confessed to him quietly, huddling in on himself without realizing it in his obvious nervousness.

 

His affection for the other man only seemed capable of growing stronger at those words and he pulled Arthur towards him, forcing him to straddle his thighs as their eyes met. “I think it was the best thing I’ve ever done, darling.” He traced a finger along that soft and tantalizing skin, no longer capable of keeping his hands to himself. “I honestly did not mind the challenge at all, and I was so happy to get to know the real you. It really had absolutely nothing to do with the job at that point, and I will swear that to you.”

 

“I forgive you, Arthur,” he whispered it like a prayer and a promise, “Because I believe you and I love you and I want to be with you beyond this week.”

 

“I forgive you, too, Eames,” Arthur breathed against his lips before kissing him softly. There was almost a type of shyness between them, sharing their first kiss with absolutely everything revealed to one another. But that trust and devotion between them turned the kiss sweet as he held Arthur close. He felt a spark of electricity pass through him as their lips connected, causing the hair on the back of his neck to rise in anticipation. Their lips seemed capable of saying so much that he would never know how to express properly in words. Apologies and forgiveness, unconditional trust and love.

 

He was quite content to continue kissing Arthur lazily for a long time – almost on purpose. The mere fact that they were not on a time limit, that this did not have to be their last kiss, made him want to move slow and cherish these sensations at a more leisurely pace. But eventually he grew adventurous and struggled with Arthur’s shirt until it escaped from the man’s waistline and belt. Once the shirt was free he slipped his fingers underneath the soft fabric, gliding his fingers up Arthur’s spine. This caused his lover to gasp and arch into him with pleasurable accuracy. The warmth and proximity jolted his longing and he knew that things would only speed up from here.

 

Removing their shirts momentarily broke the contact of their lips, but it was worth it. He felt Arthur kiss his hickey tenderly, which filled him with a sense of warmth and belonging. But he did not feel quite so lenient about the fact that his former mark had hid his hickey away underneath a collar and tie, only revealed once the guilty fabric was removed. He could understand Arthur’s desire to look professional in front of Cobb, but that did not stop him from biting that bruised skin domineeringly, “Trying to hide this?”

 

“You...did too,” Arthur defended weakly, mewling quietly as he began rocking against Eames’s body while he worked. As punishment, he decided to add a new layer to Arthur’s hickey, knowing that they would still have another day or two until they had to meet up with Cobb for work. It would begin to fade by then, but for now he was pleased with himself as he nipped and sucked that wonderful skin. The feeling of Arthur rocking against him was very distracting though, especially when the man’s growing hardness pressed against his own. He let out a groan of desire and dropped both hands to his companion’s hips, beginning them on a rhythm that caused his eyes to flutter shut. “Eames...” the other man cried out softly by his ear, forehead resting on his bare shoulder, “We have a lifetime.” He realized that Arthur was right and grappled onto frayed determination to stop his movements before they both soiled their boxers with them still on their hips. “I meant we could _slow down_, not _stop_,” Arthur growled.

 

He smirked smugly at his lover’s hidden plea, weathering Arthur’s lower lip between his teeth gently as the man glared at him. Then he pulled away and undid both of their belts, nudging the other man into motion. “Up on the bed with you, pet,” he ordered lightly, noting the sudden tense of muscles and Arthur’s pupils dilating as they both stood to remove their offending pants. He quickly dashed off to find some lotion from the bathroom, not having prepared for this after parting with Arthur. When he returned he decided to test whether his lover’s earlier reaction had been because of their position or because of his words. “No complaining, love,” he chided at Arthur’s groan, “Now be good and roll over.”

 

A shiver of desire passed through his body as he saw the other man’s cheeks flush with lust at his commanding words, noting the falseness behind Arthur’s glare before the man rolled over onto his stomach as ordered. Seeing that beautiful ass just lying there, waiting for him to do what he wished, he set the lotion aside and lay down on the mattress behind Arthur. It was a little difficult to manage with the size of the bed, but he managed to find a comfortable position as he spread those pale ass cheeks.

 

Feeling curious and daring, he gave a long stroke of his tongue from the man’s balls up to his hole, rutting against the mattress below him automatically at the pleasure-drenched yell that fell from Arthur’s surprised lips. He pulled away briefly, deciding that one more dominating order would wind his companion tight enough to suit him, “No finishing until I say so, darling.”

 

Arthur trembled underneath him, clearly struggling to keep himself still. Deciding to make things a little more challenging for the other man, he quickly thrust his tongue in, feeling Arthur thrust back against him for it. His lover shuddered as if he was going to shake apart into pieces as he teased his hole, a drawn out moan filling the room. “Eames, if you don’t want this to end right now, you better stop,” Arthur warned him, the man’s muscles tensing warningly.

 

He pulled away quickly and coated his fingers before sliding them in, fucking Arthur with them in a similar fashion to how he had used his tongue a moment previously. He used what he had learned about his lover’s preferences from before, setting a familiar pace and hitting similar angles to prepare the man while making it pleasurable for him. When he was sure that Arthur was no longer tensing in pain and that he was completely prepared, he pulled his fingers away. “I want to see your face, love.” 

 

He kissed the dip of Arthur’s lower back tenderly and then tugged him into turning onto his back. His companion’s length was resting on his stomach, a few drops of precome beading at the tip as Arthur watched him spread lotion over his own twitching need. He carefully adjusted the other man’s hips up to make sure he could push in at the proper angle, slowly sinking himself into the welcoming body of his former mark. He continued pushing in, one inch at a time, until there was nowhere else for him to go and he fell still, regaining control over  his body so he didn’t finish right there.

 

It was a wonderful feeling to be back inside Arthur’s willing body; he had never expected to have this opportunity again after he said his goodbye. He felt similar to how he had the other night, like he had finally found the place where he was accepted and belonged; only now there was no overhanging sense of urgency ruining their chance to savour it. He leaned forward, bending Arthur over himself slightly as he stole a kiss. It almost seemed stupid to be kissing so chastely while he was buried fully inside the other man’s body, but he loved the contrasting sensations that overwhelmed his senses.

 

He began thrusting his hips slowly then, pulling all the way out before pressing back in almost hesitantly; he wanted to wind Arthur to the edge and leave him there, forcing him to beg for release. He felt the other man thrust up against him and he had to hold himself back from matching Arthur’s proposed pace. The groan of frustration that escaped those lips made it all worthwhile, even as he began to wind himself into an unreleased frenzy while teasing his lover.

 

Arthur eventually relented and met his pace, giving him an adorable little mewl every time his tip ran out of room. He kept dropping little kisses along that exposed skin as he maintained his strict rhythm, leaving a trail of faded love bites behind as Arthur’s breathy sounds of approval overtook his mind. Even though he was desperate for their end, he was able to keep his slow pace because of how overpowering it felt. Arthur’s body hugged his moving length as if in slow motion, every slow inch of movement sending jolts of lust down his body. “You could move a _little_ faster.”

 

“I can, can I?” he teased, still moving defiantly, “Why don’t you make me?”

 

He was not sure what to expect, knowing that Arthur was both desperate and unable to ignore a challenge, but he was still surprised when the other man pushed up against him and then began struggling to change their positions. Nonetheless, he aided his companion in the movement until he found his back being pressed against the warm sheets with Arthur on top of him, his cock still buried in that tight ass. He smiled at his lover’s sudden boldness and placed his hands on the man’s hips to help his balance, feeling his desire and anticipation grow as Arthur gripped his thighs and got himself into an angle that would remain forever in Eames’s memories as the epitome of sex.

 

Once Arthur had found the position he was pleased with, Eames watched as the man carefully lifted himself and then let himself to fall back down heavily. His clenched his eyes shut and nearly howled with the choking pleasure sparking through him and setting his nerve-endings on fire. Arthur began a much more commanding rhythm, moving faster and dropping down heavily with each thrust. And each time his lover’s body took his weeping cock in again, Arthur grinded his ass down further, taking him in just one more inch that forced the tip of Eames’s length against that little bundle of nerves. “Little – _ungh_ – minx,” he moaned into the air, supporting his companion as he rose and then adding more force to his fall by shoving him down as he thrust up to meet that hot ass.

 

He could tell that Arthur was getting close but worried that he might finish too soon, body already wound to its limit. So he removed one hand from Arthur’s hip and gripped the man’s length securely, stroking in time with their thrusts. The other man lost his rhythm then as he thrust up into his hand and down onto his cock with no apparent pattern. He could feel his body tightening and swept a thumb over Arthur’s tip purposefully, “Come for me, my love.”

 

The reaction was instantaneous as Arthur shoved himself down, Eames fully buried inside of him as he came. Hot ropes of come covered his hand and stomach as he continued to stroke the man through his orgasm, memorizing his lover as the man threw his head back, eyes clenched closed and mouth hanging open. That image, along with Arthur’s movements, tipped him over the edge. He groaned and thrust up, burying his seed deep within his lover’s body.

 

They both shuddered as their bodies were finally released from the grip of their orgasms. He felt himself slide inside of Arthur easily as he began to soften, his lover collapsing on top of him tiredly. He wrapped his arms around the man and pulled himself out of Arthur’s body to let him relax, both of them struggling to slow their breathing. Arthur began dropping butterfly kisses on his lips and across his skin before he curled up against him, moving slightly so that he was not entirely on top of Eames.

 

Realizing that the other man was exhausted from everything – jetlag, emotional distress, and wild, passionate sex could really take it out of you – he managed to get the blankets over them to keep them both warm. He skimmed his fingers over the skin he could reach, mainly Arthur’s back, and relished the tiny shivers he received in return while his lover seemed to melt and mould against his side. “G’night,” the other man spoke softly a few minutes later.

 

“Arthur, it’s not even lunch time yet,” he laughed lightly, enjoying the rare occurrence of Arthur slurring his words.

 

“We’ll get dinner later,” Arthur stole his protests away with a kiss before snuggling against him adorably and immediately falling into a deep sleep.

 

He considered slipping out of bed after a few minutes, unsure of how long his former mark would sleep and knowing that he was not tired enough to sleep himself. But he could not bear the idea of disturbing the other man or letting him out of his embrace, so he got comfortable and lazily watched the man sleep. It was actually extremely nice to watch Arthur sleep because all of the man’s masks and defences fell away with unconsciousness, that face soft and vulnerable. He could not even explain how appreciative he was of Arthur for trusting him enough to allow him to see this part of him, knowing that this showed that his companion truly had forgiven him.

 

He combed his fingers through that soft hair, untangling the few knots that had appeared during their coupling. In the comfortable silence he allowed himself the thought of doing this in the future – waking up in the morning before Arthur, sleeping in the same bed as the other man and just nestling close to him and embracing him until his lover finally woke. He could imagine it perfectly, just like this but with a bed that was familiar and picture frames all over the walls filled with photos of their various traveling adventures to new cities. He knew this was not a future they would see any time soon, aware that jobs in the dream field often required frequent relocations. But it was a small snapshot of a future with Arthur that he was willing to patiently wait and fight for.

 

He noticed the other man shifting in his arms an hour or so later but did not desist in sliding his fingers through that soft hair, “Sleep well, darling?”

 

“Yes,” Arthur responded and stretched. Eames closed his eyes, pleased by the feeling of those strong muscles flexing and relaxing against him, “You?”

 

“Well I enjoyed watching _you_ sleep,” he admitted with a laugh.

 

“That’s a little creepy,” Arthur scolded him lightly as he pulled away to stand next to bed, stretching more extensively as he woke up further. He skimmed his eyes over the other man’s body without shame, gaze focusing on that pert ass. “And so is staring at my ass when I’m stretching, “Arthur added, even though the man was not looking at him to know he was actually staring.

 

“That’s not creepy, pet, it’s a compliment. You should be thanking me.” He sat up and smirked as Arthur slid his own gaze over Eames’s body greedily.

 

“Gee, _thanks_,” Arthur gave him a light glare, “Do you have something comfortable I can change into when I’m done showering?”

 

“Yeah, check the top drawer on the right,” he offered as he got off the bed himself.

 

“You put your clothes in the dresser? Did Cobb say how long we were going to be here for this job?” Arthur asked as he wandered over to the dresser.

 

He watched as Arthur walked, pleased to see that the man’s movements were not very stiff after he had stretched his muscles out. He responded as he grabbed his own pair of clothes, “He didn’t say exactly but it sounded like it could be a longer term job since he suggested I unpack.” He was distracted for a moment by curiosity and slid into place behind Arthur, drawing one finger up his lover’s inner thigh. He couldn’t contain his smirk at Arthur’s surprised – but definitely _pleased_ – moan, or when his fingers reappeared covered in his own come, which had been dripping down Arthur’s legs. He eventually forced himself back onto his previous train of thought though. “We should probably let him know that we’ll be sharing a room so that he can save some money. At least...” he suddenly noticed Arthur’s surprised look, worried that he had made some grave mistake, “I thought it would make sense...?”

 

“That’s not why I’m looking at you oddly; yes that makes sense,” Arthur clarified, “But do you really think we should...tell Cobb this?”

 

He could understand Arthur’s nervousness, especially considering the fact that this was their _boss_ and team mate that they were considering telling. In any other situation he would have said that they should leave it a secret, at least for a while, but he couldn’t help but remember Cobb’s earlier words. He had seemed understanding and encouraging of his feelings when he mentioned Eames’s smile; and the man had only insisted that it could not interfere with his work. He decided that using Dom’s words would be most effective here, “As long as it doesn’t interfere with our work, I don’t see why he would mind. And we’re both professional—okay, _you_ are professional enough for both of us combined. But either way, I think he already knows, pet.”

 

It was, of course, impossible to know for sure how much Cobb suspected or knew, especially with how he and Arthur had acted when they first saw one another again. But he figured it was safe to assume that the man was intelligent enough to guess; if not now then when they all met up to discuss the job in two days. He also assumed that if this had been against Cobb’s wishes, they would have been warned against it beforehand.

 

“What makes you say that?” Arthur asked him as he followed the man into the bathroom.

 

“Just a hunch,” he decided to remain vague, not exactly wanting to admit that Cobb had seen right through him during his audition.

 

Arthur raised an eyebrow at him and turned on the shower water, “What are you still doing in here?”

 

“We’re showering.”

 

“_I’m_ showering. You will just slow down the process.”

 

“But darling...” he pouted expertly.

 

“No,” Arthur glared and stepped into the shower spray.

 

“_Arthur_...?” he whined sadly, knowing exactly how to get what he wanted from his companion.

 

He heard a frustrated sigh, half muffled by the falling water, “Fine.”

 

He climbed into the shower victoriously, immediately helping Arthur wash away the sticky mess that primarily covered his body. Once that was finished, he took some time to massage shampoo into the other man’s hair, pleased with the contented groan he received in reply. He rinsed the shampoo away but then he decided that he could not allow their soapy skin to go to waste. He wrung some pleasing sounds from those lips that were swollen from kissing. He also got Arthur to yell some things that he knew the man would be embarrassed by later but caused his body to twitch in bliss. What followed that eventually led to the tiled wall being coated by come, which was washed away by the shower spray before they began the cleaning process all over again, not that either of them seemed to mind.

 

When they finally managed to escape the temptations of the shower, he ordered some dinner for them as they found cozy bathrobes and moved onto the balcony. The weather was warm so they did not require any blankets as they sat on a small bench and nibbled at their food contently. They split a bottle of wine to celebrate their reunion and everything that the future held for them – their dream jobs with their ideal team and their returned lover; you couldn’t hope for much more than that.

 

He remembered his thoughts when he first arrived in Paris as his driver took him to the hotel. It had been dark then and he had not been able to see many sights, nor had the driver taken the scenic route. As he skimmed through memories of San Francisco, he recalled his hope that he and Arthur would be able to continue having travel adventures together. “Arthur?” he asked at some point, arm wrapped loosely around Arthur’s shoulder just to keep him warm and close.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Have you ever been to Paris before?” he looked away from the view that their balcony provided in order to glance at Arthur.

 

“Only the airport, though I’ve done some reading on the city...Why?” Arthur raised an eyebrow at him curiously.

 

“Well, my love, I have not been to Paris either. And I was wondering if you would be interested in starting a new adventure with me as we saw the sights together,” he offered, hugging the man a little closer against his side. He would have kissed the man but their positioning did not really work. Not to mention the fact that in that moment he was perfectly content to simply embrace Arthur, holding him close and being comforted by the mere proximity of his lover.

 

As he considered how much they had already shared in San Francisco, he was excited by the idea of what an adventure in Paris might give them – how it might bring them closer together. He watched Arthur happily as his companion glanced over the skyline before looking up to meet his gaze. He took in that soft face, those lush lips, and those expressive eyes with hazel hidden amongst melted chocolate.

 

Arthur leaned up and gave him an innocent kiss, the sweet taste of their wine intermixing with their natural tastes, before his lover pulled away. He suddenly received a very rare grin and he tried to memorize the way Arthur’s lips stretched and his soft cheeks acquired dimples. It had to be one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen. “I would love to start a new adventure with you, Eames.”


	15. Day Seven: Cobb

**Day Seven**

** _Cobb_ **

 

“Let’s go out, Dom. I’m terribly bored, being cooped up in this hotel room,” Mal skimmed her fingers precisely over his tense shoulders, manipulating them to relax with no effort at all.

 

“I can’t leave – my Forger and Point Man will be returning for their interviews and I want to make sure everything goes perfectly,” Dom reasoned with his wife. He did not, however, brush her expert touch aside.

 

“There is no way anything will go wrong,” Mal reassured him. He felt her fingers skim down his left arm as she circled around him until she was blocking his view of the cityscape through the window. Dom’s eyes focused on her entirely, the city an uninteresting grey mass compared to the splendour of his wife. Mallorie was beautiful, dangerously so – and she was addicting to look at.

 

“Something can always go wrong, Mal, you know that,” he chided her, but only lightly. The confidence that Mal held in her plans – in _their_ work – was both encouraging and perilous.

 

He watched as she silently manoeuvred an identical armchair to his own in front of his line of sight and sat down. Every movement was poised and graceful, nothing done pointlessly and every flex of muscle fluid. Dom remembered pestering her, when he first met her, to admit she had done dance as a girl. He had never received his answer though – only a smug curl of lips that promptly distracted him from his goal.

 

It was even harder to look away from her as she settled in her chair due to the outfit she was wearing. She sat back against the plush cushion of the chair and rested her arms on each armrest, leaving her body open and chest accentuated in the bodice of her strapless evening gown. Then Mal hooked one foot behind the ankle of the other foot, silver ribbons winding around her feet to keep the heels on barely visible as they peeked out from the hemline of the dress. The material in itself was leading towards his undoing – no doubt the reason why Mal had chosen it. The dark midnight blue brought out her eyes, and the shimmering top layer of material slid over her moving limbs as though it was water. It didn’t help that her necklace caught the sun, which was hanging low in the sky, and drew his attention to her otherwise bare neck.

 

Dom was incredibly grateful that he was allowed to look at Mallorie the way he was currently indulging in, because he was quite sure he was entirely addicted to the sight by now. But it was also quite hard to comprehend that the woman sitting in front of him, victorious smile already curling those painted lips, was truly _his_. How had he been lucky enough to catch her eye? He didn’t even mind that she had both the skills and wit to deter him from his current goal on a whim.

 

“Dom,” his name fell from her mouth like honey, drawing him closer, “You have done all that you can. You have the itineraries for both the Forger’s and the Point Man’s flights. You have confirmed with the airlines that their tickets were collected. Eames will be arriving at nine this evening, while Arthur just left so he will be arriving early tomorrow morning. You have drivers waiting at the airport to drive them here, and the lobby has been informed about the procedure they should follow.” Mal highlighted each measure of security he had set in place, vocally scrolling down a checklist. “_Nothing_ can go wrong, wouldn’t you agree?”

 

“It seems _unlikely_ for anything to go wrong,” he conceded carefully, never in the habit of tempting fate.

 

Dom watched as Mal rolled her eyes at him before she smiled. “Then we have four hours before Eames’s plane is due to arrive and I believe you should take me out for some dinner and dancing.”

 

He chuckled, finally pulling himself out of his chair. He brushed his fingers along the fabric of his suit idly, removing any wrinkles before pulling his suit jacket back in place. Dom had dressed up in a suit in preparation for the interviews, wanting to maintain a professional air even though he was already prepared to give both Eames and Arthur the jobs. Mallorie had clearly decided to use his attire against him. “But where are we going to find a restaurant taking reservations at this late hour?” he posed the question like a challenge while offering his hand out to his wife. “You know the festival is filling up the restaurants this week.”

 

“Dom, _really_,” Mal smiled up at him as she took his hand and stood up. “I have already taken the liberty of making a reservation for two under your name at the _Chateau Noir_. Though I’m afraid we must leave quite soon if we do not wish to be late.”

 

Point, set, and match.

 

“Well, how could I refuse?” Dom smiled and kissed the back of Mal’s hand, admitting defeat.

 

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Mal laughed warmly at the kiss before gently withdrawing her hand to retrieve her purse from the adjoining bedroom.

 

He grabbed both of their coats from the hall closet and shrugged his on quickly, taking more delicate care in helping Mallorie into her coat. They headed for the elevator together and Dom was unsurprised to see a sleek town car waiting for them on the cobblestone driveway of the hotel. Despite the short distance to the restaurant, it took a few extra minutes as the driver fought to weave his way through the busy Parisian streets.

 

The sun was edging towards the horizon when the car pulled up in front of the _Chateau Noir_ and the driver held the door open for Mal and then Dom to exit. Dom offered his arm and felt Mal loop her arm with his, hand resting palm down on his wrist. He couldn’t help but smile at the fluttering of his heart at the simple but trusting gesture. It seemed as though his body would never grow tired of Mal in his arms, warmth close to him, knowing smile challenging him to do forever greater things.

 

There was a reservation under ‘Cobb’, just as Mallorie had proclaimed, and they were led through the bustling restaurant to their table. The restaurant was eye-catching and looked as though someone had created it from the lobby of a five-star hotel. The first floor had a circle of tables around the outer rim, while the middle was covered in polished wood for dancing. You could see the ceiling two stories up, the second floor with a similar ring of tables but open to look down on the dance floor below. The ceiling itself was painted like a famous fresco and sparkling chandeliers hung precisely - looking as though they were merely part of the painting’s design.

 

They were led to a table on the first floor, which Dom figured was a good thing since he doubted he would leave this restaurant without dancing. He continued to study the architecture as they were seated and handed menus, taking note of the Corinthian columns fashioned out of a dark marble to mesh with the dark wooden colours used throughout the rest of the restaurant. “Gorgeous, isn’t it?” Mal asked him softly, sounding pleased.

 

“I recognize the chandeliers,” his gaze was drawn back to his wife – never straying long. “You’ve used them before.” His only answer was a small conceding smile before Mal ducked behind her leather-bound menu, feigning indecision on meal options.

 

The food itself made the prices worthwhile, the architecture and live string quartet taking requests for dancers simply an added bonus. They ate slowly and eventually found themselves in a philosophical debate regarding the use of memories in dreams. He felt the tension between them as they danced around the subject they truly wanted to discuss – the upcoming job – but they were able to momentarily set that aside and act like a normal couple out for dinner. Dom didn’t mind that they were the farthest thing from normal; the thought that this was only one of the worlds he experienced with Mal made him smile.

 

“Shall we dance a while?” Mal asked him after he had signed the cheque, drawing his attention away from his watch.

 

“Of course,” Dom agreed happily, slipping out of his chair to assist Mallorie out of her own. He knew quite well that she could take care of herself – Mal was a better marksman than he was – but he appreciated the fact that she allowed him these small, gentle gestures. She didn’t take it as a sexist act because she knew that _he_ knew how capable she was. And even though she rarely admitted it aloud, Mal enjoyed the loving glances, touches and caresses as much as he did.

 

They had been married for almost three years now, but every look, every touch felt like the first. Every morning he woke up in bed with Mal curled up against him – never the first one awake – he couldn’t help but smile and kiss her temple, grateful for such a wonderful start to the day. Every time their eyes met – accident or not – sent his stomach tumbling with a flock of butterflies. Every touch and caress sent his heart flying, not quite capable of believing how lucky he was but loving every minute anyway.

 

Even now as he led Mal onto the near-empty dance floor, he felt as though they were coming together for their first dance again. It had been at the university – Miles had _insisted_ that he attend – and their eyes had caught from across the deserted dance floor. It was as though they had moved as one, meeting in the centre under the tacky disco ball, and she had slid into his arms as if she belonged there. Dom had been quite certain, as they began an elegant quickstep around the expanse of polished wood without a word of communication, that she _did_ belong there in his arms. He had never let her go after that evening.

 

It felt that way now as their fingers wove together, her other hand rested precisely on his shoulder and his free hand hugged the dip of her lower back. They began a rather lavish version of a waltz as one, adding in a few extravagant spins and dips to add some flare to the simple dance. They met each other equally, both of them leading and both of them following; it was the same with everything they did together in life. But that didn’t stop his heart from flying as Mal smiled up at him and then rested her forehead on his shoulder, hair tickling his neck.

 

He lost track of time for a while as more couples borrowed their grace and confidence to join them on the dance floor. But he eventually remembered to check his watch and nearly cursed aloud when he saw the time. Mal seemed to note his tensed muscles in an instant and they came to a standstill underneath the largest chandelier. It was as though someone had used a remote to pause them while the rest of the world continued dancing around them. “What is it?”

 

“Eames’s plane is due to land in thirty minutes,” Dom offered his arm quickly and led Mal across the dance floor towards the coat-check. He still took a selfish moment for himself to note how, with Mal’s shimmering evening gown, it looked as though she was floating across the dance floor.

 

Mal pouted but allowed him to help her into her coat. “I do not know why you are so high strung about this meeting,” she questioned in that ever-soft tone, watching him as he quickly shrugged on his own coat and led them out to a waiting row of black town cars. He didn’t respond to the question as he helped her into the car and gave the driver their hotel’s address. Mal didn’t press him for an answer as the car pulled away from the curb, knowing that the topic was too job-related for him to comfortably discuss it in public. Instead, she leaned across the leather interior of the car and rested her head on his shoulder, watching the passing cityscape through his window. “You spoil me.”

 

Dom didn’t bother to respond vocally, both of them well aware that Mal had been the one to choose the restaurant. He didn’t really mind this though, willing to give his wife anything and everything that her heart desired. “Anything for you, Mal,” he whispered warmly, kissing her forehead tenderly.

 

It was when they were back in their hotel room that Mal asked him again, never one to give up on anything. “Why are you so worried about this meeting? You have already told me that you were set on giving them the jobs the moment you sent them off to San Francisco.”

 

“I am planning on giving them the jobs the moment they step through that door,” he agreed, setting up the three armchairs in the room in a loose circle in preparation. “What I’m worried about is how Arthur and Eames interacted during this week.”

 

“What do you mean?” Mal took the seat closer to him, neither of them bothering to undress despite how ridiculous it seemed to sit around idly in your hotel room in a suit and evening gown. “Remember that I did not have the pleasure of meeting your prodigies.”

 

Dom stared through the windows again for a long moment, trying to find the right words to describe the enigma that was the combination of Arthur and Eames. Mal waited beside him, settled perfectly as if she was posing for an ancient sculptor or a famous painter to swiftly turn her into a cherished masterpiece. “They both have an incredible energy that surrounds them,” he eventually attempted to explain. “Even though I did not get to witness them interacting a week ago, I have a feeling that they will either clash to the point of ruin or mesh like something out of stories.”

 

“So, to put things simply...you are fearful that they will be just like us,” Mal did not state it like a question and she had the most devious smile turning her lips upward. “We are equally close to bringing one another’s demise as to leading each other to salvation.”

 

Dom met her eyes quickly, her dark irises always sharp with intelligence and wit. They were soft too, though, as was her smile. He had not realized why the connection he had seen between Eames and Arthur looked so familiar, until his wife spelled it out for him; now it seemed obvious. He was no stranger to those sorts of energies that a few rare couples shared. “Yes, I suppose that is exactly what I am concerned about. Especially considering how volatile they both seem capable of being,” he added with a sigh.

 

“We can always find another team member if necessary,” Mal reasoned, tracing her finger up and down his rumpled suit sleeve.

 

“They’re both the best at what they do, though,” Dom bit his lip, thinking about how difficult it would be for him to find another Forger or Point Man who could even hope of comparing to Eames and Arthur. “It would just work so much better if, by some miracle, they managed to find some middle ground to work with.”

 

He fell silent when there was a hesitant but strong knock at the hotel’s door. Mal stood from her chair steadily, pausing in front of him for a moment. “They may surprise you,” she warned him. He felt her painted fingers touch his chin, sparking his nerve endings to life as she tilted his head up for a quick kiss. Then she was gone, gliding across the carpeted room to pull the hotel door open. “Mr. Eames, I presume?” he heard her ask and couldn’t help but smile when he heard her exaggerating the fluidity of her tone.

 

“Um, yes, hello,” Dom heard the English accent while he stood from his chair, pausing to give Mal a moment alone to meet their Forger.

 

“Please come in. Dom, darling, your Forger is here,” she called to him, as if he didn’t know already. Dom began walking towards the small entrance hallway but paused when he heard Mal’s voice again, sounding surprised and pleased. “That is very beautiful.”

 

“It is,” he heard Eames respond and Dom did his best to focus on that voice. Eames’s words held a warm lilt of affection to whatever Mal had spotted, and Dom felt his hope rise.

 

“It seems to mean a great deal to you,” Mal spoke loudly enough that Dom could imagine the Forger’s expressions and postures without actually seeing him.

 

He raised an eyebrow when Eames responded after a second of hesitation. “Yes, it is one of my favourites.” The Forger’s tone was suddenly cool, detached, and indifferent.

 

Curious about the quick change and not wanting things to spiral downward before they began, he finally crossed the span of the hotel room and stepped into the hallway. “Ah, Eames, glad you made it,” he greeted warmly. He watched diligently as Eames set a painting down, clearly a treasured possession with how carefully the man placed it against the wall and away from harm – quite a difference from the neutral tone used towards it only moments before. Dom took in the design quickly – an entwined sun and moon – before he returned his attention to his new Forger as they shook hands. “I am sure you’re exhausted from your travels but I hope you will not protest to talking tonight.”

 

“No, of course not,” Eames agreed as their hands slipped apart, the man’s grip strong and steady.

 

“Well first things first, I would like to introduce to you my wife and the most brilliant Architect I have ever known, Mallorie Cobb,” he introduced Mal with a flourish as they stepped further into the hotel room to take advantage of the chairs. Mal caught his eye for a quick moment, smiling her thanks and affection to him which he easily returned, before she turned to shake Eames’s hand.

 

“Pleasure to meet you,” he heard Eames speak, voice sounding warm. But when Dom looked over his Forger, he saw that the man’s smile looked strained – pained, even. His hope for a productive week began to dwindle again, the Forger’s eyes clearly dulled by more than simple exhaustion, but forced himself to maintain some hope.

 

They offered to order him some room service despite having eaten already, but Eames turned them down politely and took the only remaining chair. “So how was San Francisco?” Mal leaned forward in her chair, focusing her full attention on Eames.

 

“It was very enlightening,” Eames responded carefully, that tired, worn out smile still struggling to remain on the man’s face.

 

“What was your favourite sight to see?” Mal tried again, relentless. She asked another string of light questions about Eames’s week, feigning easy-going chatter while both of them watched the man for more subtle hints about how the week had gone. It was actually rather peculiar to watch. The Forger would sometimes slip into a rather genuine smile, chuckling as he shared a brief story; but then the smile would slip and a heavy weight would seemingly return to the man’s shoulders.

 

Finally, Mal excused herself for the evening and left them alone for the interview. Dom wasn’t entirely sure they even needed an interview, already certain that he would be given Eames the job. However, he hoped that it might enlighten him about the Forger’s bizarre behaviour, and began setting up the PASIV device. “The one you leant me is in my suitcase,” Eames offered quietly.

 

“That’s fine; I’ll get it from you tomorrow,” he sent the man a reassuring smile, wondering if his Forger was acting oddly because he was nervous about the interview. When he had met Eames before, the man had seemed nearly incapable of being nervous, but there was certainly _something_ plaguing him now. “So, I would like for you to take on the persona of your mark when we go down and show me how convincing you can really be. Obviously, I will be aware of the fact that you are not truly your mark,” he explained as he handed Eames a lead, threading his own needle into his vein expertly, “So you should just try to be as convincing as you can. Sound fair?”

 

Eames agreed and they slipped down into sleep as Dom started up the machine. He opened his eyes to find himself a dark, lush bar lounge and restaurant, air a little hazy from smoke. He made his way to the bar slowly, weaving through crowds of people; the sounds of warm chatter and glasses clinking filled the room. He ordered a glass of Crown Royale on the rocks to sip as he took a stool in plain sight, underneath an overhang filled with hanging glasses that sparkled in the dim lighting like ornaments.

 

He had only taken a few shallow sips of his drink, alcohol warming him pleasantly, before Arthur greeted him. And for the briefest moment his mind did truly believe that it was Arthur in front of him – maybe it was his projection of the Point Man and Eames had not yet arrived – before he calmed his mind to return to rationality. After all, Dom had to admit that even his projection of Arthur was not as impressive as the man standing in front of him. Even the handshake, strong and sure, and the smile, barely there and professional but still friendly, was practically identical to what Dom had seen a week previously when meeting Arthur for the first time.

 

As Eames ordered a mojito through Arthur’s precise tone and they made their way to a relatively secluded booth for some privacy, Dom focused his full attention on the Forger’s appearance. He was surprised to notice, before anything else, how the weight that seemed to be dragging the man down in reality had vanished. It was almost as though Eames was taking refuge in Arthur’s form, able to escape his heavy thoughts by adopting Arthur’s mannerisms instead. It was a very interesting and miraculous difference.

 

After that, he began posing a few short questions about politics, economics, business, and some other specialized questions. Even though Eames was not expected to know ever fact and opinion that his mark held, he was interested to see how accurate Eames was in portraying Arthur’s views without being influenced by his own. As he had expected, his new Forger did the job so seamlessly that Dom had to remind himself that it was not actually the Point Man sitting across from him.

 

They moved on to questions about Eames’s trip to San Francisco; Dom was curious to see how he would respond. He wanted to see if Eames would tell his own stories but try to express them through Arthur’s words, or whether the Forger would attempt to imagine what his mark had done during the week. Dom realized, quite quickly, that neither was the case. Eames was speaking through Arthur’s tones and expressions, but the Forger was talking with a confidence that could only come from experiencing it with Arthur. He felt rather confident in guessing that Eames had spent some time with his mark during his week.

 

But what really caught Dom’s attention was the way ‘Arthur’ looked as he was talking. It was as though Eames was a painter who had painted his life’s masterpiece. Every detail of Arthur’s appearance was perfect, from the slicked-back hair to the stiff shoulders. Every line of Arthur’s strong jaw and high cheekbones were sharp and defined. Eames had even included the small habit Arthur had where he touched the table with his pinky finger before setting the glass down, cushioning and muffling the sound of impact – however quiet it was to begin with.

 

However, Arthur’s appearance had also been romanticized. Those lines that looked clear and sharp could look equally soft and muted in the next instant; as if Eames knew how soft each angle and contour of Arthur’s body was to the touch. Arthur’s skin had a habit of catching the light and glowing as if he were sitting directly below the warming sun, rather than the artificial lighting of a non-descript bar. There were also some features that stood out more than was entirely natural, like the hazel streak in Arthur’s chocolate eyes. Dom knew it was there, but he also knew that it should not be visible in their current lighting. That streak of gold was pronounced now. Eames was like a very doted and affectionate painter, accentuating the features he adored about his muse that he wanted the rest of the world to recognize and appreciate as well.

 

They fell into a comfortable conversation until they suddenly found themselves staring across the hotel room instead of a bar booth. Dom did not speak at first, resting his elbow in the armrest of the chair and leaning his chin against his open palm. Before Eames had arrived, he had been hoping that his Forger and Point Man had managed to not kill one another. The most he had hoped for were that they had managed to find some balanced relationship that would lead to an effective team ethic. But now, with Eames’s performance, he was beginning to think that he had gotten more than he bargained for. He decided to tread lightly. “Eames...I have to say I am very impressed with your abilities. I have met Arthur once and he’s a very...complicated man to understand.”

 

“You’ve met Arthur?” Eames asked quickly, leaning forward in his chair slightly.

 

Dom raised an eyebrow, question answered: he had definitely gotten more than he bargained for. “Once...” he repeated, wondering how to continue. “Eames, I have to ask...you seem to have a very...close knowledge of your mark.”

 

Eames noticeably tensed, even though it was obvious the Forger was doing his best to hide it. “Well, that was my job.”

 

Dom couldn’t discern whether the nervous tension emanating around the other man was about his mark, or about the job, so he tried to remove as many confounding issues as he could. “Eames, you already have the job so you can relax.” He watched as the tension melted away from the Forger’s form, but noted that the plaguing weight seemed to be slowly returning. “But as a member of my team, I require that you be honest with me. I need to know that you’re not going to get this close to every one of your marks, and that this will not interfere with your work.”

 

“No, no of course not,” Eames was shaking his head vigorously, fingers nearly turning white with how tightly he was clutching the armrests. The look of sickness Eames had had when he thought his job was in question was beginning to fade. Now he looked shocked and desperate to assure Dom. He knew that the job was important to the Forger, but he was still surprised at how distressed Eames looked to keep his good graces. “No, this is not my normal method at all. I decided to suggest sightseeing to get to know him personally but then things continued...” Eames seemed to fade away, lost in memories for a moment before snapping back to reality. “But I can assure you that it will never happen again. Arthur was...”

 

“Special?” he offered, still leaning on his chin. He couldn’t help but notice the smile that was slowly curling Eames’s lips upward. Even now, being in front of an employer who could easily revoke his job offer – even though Dom had no such thoughts in mind – Eames couldn’t help but smile at the memory of Arthur.

 

“I’m not sure I’d use the word _special_, per se...” Eames tried to recover, finally realizing that he was not alone and that he was acting unprofessionally.

 

Dom decided to spare the man some misery, sending Eames a reassuring, calming smile. “I would.”

 

“Why?” Eames stilled, cautious.

 

“Because when you talk about him, you get the same smile I do when I speak about my wife,” he smirked when he saw Eames go a little pale in his shock. “It’s not a crime, Eames,” he reminded smugly.

 

He watched as Eames pushed his hair away distractedly, breathing deeply. Dom was suddenly excited by the idea of Arthur landing in Paris the next morning. For the same reason he had been terrified of Eames and Arthur clashing, Dom was now relieved and eager to see their team work together. There was a cohesive understanding – trust and devotion – that came with the love he saw in the Forger’s eyes.

 

Dom grew concerned, though, when Eames’s smile fell and the man shrugged, looking exhausted and dulled. “Well I promise that it won’t happen again and it won’t interfere with my work. He’s gone now so...”

 

Dom quickly understood the issue. Like some heartbreaking story of star-crossed lovers, Eames and Arthur had danced around one another for a week but had been forced to split apart. He felt his own quick wave of guilt for pitting them against one another; it was like an accidental but incredibly cruel joke. It seemed almost certain that the Forger and Point Man had kept their jobs secret, both paranoid while trying to enter an illegal profession and also careful to not lose their new jobs. He had no way of knowing what terms the two dream workers had parted on, but he could only hope that this could be mended.

 

There was nothing he could say to comfort Eames though, as much as he wanted to. Dom couldn’t do anything until he met with Arthur and assessed the Point Man’s mindset, and bring Eames in to try to force some reconciliation. He only hoped that it didn’t cause the pair to splinter apart more than they clearly already had. “How about you get some sleep?” he suggested, trying to sound comforting. “You must be exhausted from the flight. Unpack all of your things and you can come by tomorrow at around...oh, let’s say nine in the morning,” he recalled the scheduled landing of Arthur’s flight. “We can discuss the job more then.”

 

He pushed himself out of his chair, watching as Eames copied him. He was sad to see his new Forger struggle, but he appreciated the man’s effort to appear professional and strong. Dom knew for certain that despite all of this – if Eames and Arthur reconnected or even if they _didn’t_ reconnect beyond team members – both new dream workers would be invaluable and priceless to the team. They both had the professionalism, strength, and drive to make it through anything and aid their team. “I’m glad to have you on the team, Eames,” he said, though the words didn’t seem to effectively capture his pride in his new Forger. “Sleep well and don’t be late tomorrow.”

 

“I’m really grateful to be on the team,” Eames breathed, genuinely pleased as they shook hands and Dom handed over a key card for Eames’s new room. Dom followed his Forger as the man crossed the room towards the door, picking up his painting like a precious treasure. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning.” 

 

Dom watched quietly as Eames slid through the door, offering one tired but incredibly grateful smile before disappearing down the hall. He locked the door and flicked the light off tiredly, crossing the room to the adjoining bedroom where his wife was awaiting him. He knew that Arthur and Eames had only spent a week together, but he was amazed by the attachment and devotion he had heard in the Forger’s tone. He could only imagine how difficult it would be to say goodbye to Mal, thinking he would never see her again. Dom wasn’t sure he’d survive it.

 

He swallowed down the thought as he stepped into the bedroom, headed for the closet to pensively peel away the pieces of his suit and hang them up carefully. Dom watched Mal during his process, drinking in the sight of his wife to alleviate the pain in his chest that had begun when he imagined curling into an empty bed without her. She had one lamp turned on by the bed, a golden glow surrounding her as she slowly turned pages of a worn book borrowed from the university. “Tell me what is troubling you,” Mal’s voice wrapped around him, drawing his attention as he pulled on some loose track pants.

 

“I’m sure you know already,” he chuckled as he turned off the extra lights and slid under the soft sheets.

 

Mal finished her paragraph before marking her page and setting the book down on her bedside table. “Eavesdropping is unbecoming in a woman,” she chided his assumption before turning off her lamp and dropping the room into quiet darkness. Dom felt Mal slide down under the sheets and curl up against his side, fingers dancing over his bare chest lovingly. It was in the streak of moonlight slipping through the hotel window that he could see her devious, guilty smile.

 

“Yes, of course it is,” he rolled his eyes and wound an arm around her, pulling her body closer. He never grew tired of the feel of their skin melding together, like two puzzle pieces born to fit together. “Eames and Arthur became much more than I was expecting,” he began, indulging his wife.

 

“The problem?” Mal skimmed her lips down his jaw and he could feel her smile on his skin.

 

“They didn’t tell one another about their jobs, meaning that they most likely split on either bad terms or at least assumed permanent terms. I don’t know what we’re going to do if they clash tomorrow morning.” He sighed and captured Mal’s wandering hand in his own, winding their fingers together. “I know they’ll both be able to work together even if they don’t reconnect, but it will be strained and the team won’t be nearly as strong as it could be.”

 

“Dom, darling,” she whispered in his ear, incredibly skilled at calming him down. “You are worrying yourself over something you cannot control. You will have your interview with Arthur tomorrow morning, and then you are having Eames come by at the end of it. They will rush away to a private room and either reclaim one another loudly and passionately, or they’ll be adults and find some common, professional ground to continue on from.”

 

“You seem pretty confident,” Dom kissed along her temple and then down to her cheek when she shifter her head to give him an easier angle.

 

Mal laughed quietly, though it sounded like delicate wind chimes. “Pretty confident? Dom, I’m entirely confident.” Her free hand, the one Dom had not captured with his own, began wandering down his chest to play with the elastic of his pants teasingly. “They are both eager and determined dream workers who recognize how skilled our team will be together. Now enough about our Forger and Point Man – let’s get your mind on something that holds more immediate..._gratification_.”

 

“How could I refuse?” Dom breathed as Mal’s hand dipped below his waistline. He did his best to focus on using his free hand to push the straps of his wife’s nightgown aside, but it was difficult. Pretty soon he didn’t need to worry about dealing with his concerns about Eames and Arthur - he couldn’t think about much at all. 

 

#

 

They set their alarm to have an early breakfast before Arthur arrived, the Point Man’s flight on schedule and driver waiting to pick him up. They had the dishes cleared out with thirty minutes to spare, both of them already dressed. Dom checked his phone, having just received a text from his driver to inform him that they were on their way to the hotel, when Mal’s phone began vibrating on the coffee table.

 

He listened idly in the chair he had occupied the night before, everything in the same location. Dom tapped his finger on the edge of the polished wood armrest as he listened to the progression of the phone call: pleasant, surprised, angry, and finally determined. “Who was that?” he asked when he finally heard Mal flick her phone closed.

 

“Jackson,” she answered him. Dom always found it astounding how Mal never sounded _angry_, per se...But you could always tell when she was planning someone’s death.

 

“Problem?” he watched her pass from the window where she had been standing to the hall closet.

 

“No problem,” Mal smiled at him sweetly as she pulled on her coat.

 

He could tell by the way she was handling the fabric – almost too calm in her movements – that Jackson was on death row. “Are you sure?”

 

“Oh yes,” Mal buttoned up her light coat and crossed the room quickly, leaning down to kiss him affectionately. “Jackson simply assured me that there was no way he could have our required batch of chemicals in time for this job. I am merely going to persuade him into believing that there is _always_ a way.”

 

Dom knew there was no point in arguing with Mal when she had stepped into this determined mindset. He didn’t particularly wish to argue either, knowing that she would be the most successful at getting the new batch of chemicals on time. And with the plan set to begin work on the job in only two days, the whole team needed Mal to...re-educate Jackson. “Arthur will be here in less than thirty minutes, though. Couldn’t you wait an hour to leave?”

 

“And let Jackson think, for one full hour, that we will tolerate this? No,” Mal shook her head, curls bouncing lightly. “Besides, we both know Arthur will be joining our team; I will have plenty of time to speak with him. Pass on my apology, would you? I’ll be back as soon as this mess is dealt with.”

 

“Alright, I’ll see you soon,” he called out as Mal began walking for the door again.

 

“Oh, and Dom, love?” Mal peeked around the corner, blinking back at him mischievously. He raised a questioning eyebrow. “Let them figure things out on their own. I promise that if you send them off to a room to be alone together, rather than forcing them to talk with you as a mediator, we will have a new couple joining our team.”

 

Dom could do nothing but laugh and nod as Mal sent him one final smile and slipped out of the room. He only had to wait another fifteen minutes after she disappeared to hear a quiet knock at the door. He stood, pulled his suit back into place to remove any wrinkles, and crossed the room quickly to pull the door open. “Good to see you, Arthur,” he greeted his Point Man with a smile, “Come on in.”

 

He led them both into the room, noting how Arthur looked terribly strained and worn down. Dom wondered how much of it was due to jetlag and how much was due to a suffering heart, but reminded himself that he could not mention that quite yet. He was curious and relieved though when Arthur seemed to calm after brushing his fingers along his collar line. “Good to see you as well, Cobb,” his Point Man’s strong, professional voice quickly returned as they both took a seat. “I see you changed locations.”

 

Dom held down his laugh as Arthur – ever the Point Man – politely probed for information. “Yes, well if things go well today and you join the team I will have a job lined up for us to begin almost immediately. It is based in Paris so I figured it was worthwhile having our meeting here. So...” he spared one quick glance across the skyline lit with the weak morning light, wondering how Jackson was fairing. “Before we get started I would like to apologize for my Architect not being available for our meeting. She wanted to attend to officially meet you and take part in this, but she had to leave on short notice to pick up some new chemicals.” He allowed a small smile to slip through his professional air. “My wife, Mal, has always been an amazing Architect but has always done things when it suited her; but you will meet her soon.”

 

“I look forward to it,” Arthur bowed his head slightly. He looked a little surprised, and did not smile, but Arthur seemed to finally settle into his chair properly, shoulders relaxing slightly.

 

“Yes, well let’s get on with things, shall we?” he smiled, excited to witness another demonstration of Arthur’s expertise. “I know you could probably give me lists and lists of facts on your mark because I don’t pick just anyone. But what I want for you to do instead is to explain to me what information would be useful if we were to actually be doing a job with him as a mark.”

 

“Are we going to?” Arthur blurted out quickly, much to Dom’s surprise. He watched as the Point Man’s body went rigid and the colour seemed to drain from Arthur’s cheeks, the man looking a little nauseous. Dom raised an eyebrow; he guessed that was answer enough to know Arthur had felt similarly to Eames and also felt rather guilty about lying to his mark.

 

“It doesn’t matter if we are or not,” he brushed the question aside, wishing to maintain the professional air through the interview – despite how pointless it was considering how he already considered Arthur his Point Man – and deal with emotions when Eames returned. He needed to be sure that, even though he doubted this would be a common occurrence, Arthur wouldn’t be negatively influenced by his attachments when it came to performance. “I am asking you to take me through the process of what we _would_ do, if we had to do such a thing, using the knowledge you collected. After all,” he sat back against the plush cushion of the chair, trying to look less intimidating, “What is the value of knowledge if you cannot utilize it?”

 

Dom was startled to say the least when Arthur nodded and seemed to turn to stone. The man fell still, not fidgeting an inch, and the professional, neutral expression on Arthur’s face seemed to freeze there. Even Arthur’s eyes - the barest hint of that hazel streak visible in the sunlight now that he was looking for it - barely faltered from their focus on Dom. If he didn’t know any better, Dom would assume Medusa was standing behind him, turning his newest team member into a guarded, stoic statue.

 

Once the transformation seemed complete, Arthur began relaying a plan that was so detailed, so foolproof, so aware of every angle that Dom had no doubt they could corner Eames in his hotel room the moment Mal returned and rob the Forger of every piece of knowledge they could hope to want. He reminded himself that Arthur had gotten very close to his mark during the week, which explained the intimate knowledge the Point Man held, but Dom had to admit that it was still remarkable how Arthur could perform his job without any interference from his personal feelings. It was impressive and relieving, and Dom could do nothing but pose some varying situations, objectives and obstacles to attempt to challenge the man.

 

Eventually he was forced to concede to Arthur’s points and merely nod along with the man’s plans. He was pleased with how confident and comfortable he felt with Arthur leading him with his knowledge, debriefing him effectively. It was also interesting for Dom to listen to Arthur talking about Eames for the first time. True, the man was still maintaining a professional air, but Dom was able to catch a few rare moments when those chestnut eyes seemed to soften, or when one corner of Arthur’s lips were in danger of upturning. And beyond that, he was able to get a much clearer view of Eames from a team member’s perspective; how the Forger was actually quite protective, determined and dedicated to those he kept close.

 

It was a unique experience to be able to view and consider both of his new team members from the other’s viewpoints and experiences. It seemed to add another layer to the Forger and the Point Man in Dom’s mind, and he was thoroughly impressed with what he was learning. He was not just hiring two new and incredibly skilled dream workers; he was recruiting a devoted couple who would support one another and also remain committed to the team. Dom was quite sure he had found two new friends.

 

He realized that Arthur had fallen silent and Dom pressed a finger against his lips, deep in thought and trying to decide the best course of action. He eventually determined that Arthur was already part of the team and now he needed to figure out what hope Eames – and their whole team – had in Arthur and Eames reconnecting. “You seem to have a very personal understanding of your mark,” he chanced the words, even though he knew they would make the Point Man uncomfortable and defensive.

 

Sure enough, he watched as Arthur’s back stiffened even more, as impossible as that seemed. “Pardon?”

 

“Well...” he decided that he would have to be truthful and upfront to match Arthur’s methods. “First of all, you seem to know a lot of information that would be very difficult to come across without the individual telling you. Secondly, you seem to have a very good idea of which pieces of information _specifically_ will be useful. And lastly, which I find most interesting...” he watched Arthur carefully, trying to read the Point Man through his stone mask, “You seem to know _why_.”

 

“I befriended my mark; we saw the sights together,” Arthur’s voice was still strong, but was quieter as though he was hoping Dom might not hear him. “It is not one of my normal methods and I realize that it was extremely unprofessional; but since this job is so important to me, I determined that it was worth the challenges as long as I remained distant.”

 

“Forgive me, Arthur,” he bit his lip, “but it does not exactly sound like you managed to remain distant.” Dom realized quite quickly that Arthur was not going to be as open about this as Eames had been which made sense; Arthur struck him as an incredibly private person. But as he watched his Point Man, he wasn’t sure if Arthur was going to permanently turn to stone, or whether the man would crumble beyond repair. “Calm down, Arthur,” he spoke quickly, hoping to alleviate some of the inner turmoil in those eyes. “You already have the job. You have more than surpassed my expectations and I know I can trust you to make the decisions you need to make when it comes to each unique job. I am merely asking because I value honesty among my team members.”

 

Arthur nodded, still looking like a statue but maybe softening along the edges as the man relaxed at the news of having the job. Arthur met and held his gaze strongly. “I was not successful in remaining distant. We grew...close,” a sad smile slipped out, Arthur probably not even aware of it with how fast it disappeared again. “We had fun sightseeing together. But that doesn’t really matter anymore because I chose to return to this job and I will not see him again.”

 

Dom wanted to groan, peeking at his watch. He wished there was something he could say to make this easier, to make the upcoming moment less jarring for his new team members. But it was nine o’clock and he heard the door being unlocked. “I’m afraid that’s where you’re wrong, Arthur,” he spoke softly, hoping he hadn’t planned this in a way that would lead to the Forger and Point Man shattering.

 

He watched helplessly as Eames stepped into the room and froze, and as Arthur stood from his chair as if he had been electrocuted. Arthur glanced from Eames to Dom and back again, looking lost. The Point Man looked like he was about to cross the room and jump into Eames’s arms. But the man also looked like he was about to run for the nearest balcony and jump. Either way, it was clear that Arthur’s cold stone facade was crumbling beyond repair.

 

When it was clear that Eames and Arthur had no idea what to say, and might just spend the rest of the day staring at one another, Dom decided to intervene. “Based on what you have both told me, I’m sure this is quite a shock. I apologize for any issues this may have caused,” he tried to make sure they could hear his apology in his tone; he truly hated the pain, confusion and betrayal he saw in the two men. They were both too scared to hope, and Dom could only pray to every deity he knew that they could move past this. “...But consider this a shared audition. You have shown your own abilities as well as quite a bit about one another through your demonstrations, including your ability to cooperate and work together.”

 

Both men turned their gaze to Dom and he was silently thankful that looks could not kill. “What are you talking about?” It was Arthur who spoke first.

 

“I think you both know already,” he raised a knowing eyebrow, confident that he did not need to repeat everything he had witnessed over the last twelve hours to remind them of the clear devotion they had shared. “You have shown that Eames is cautious but very open and devoted to aiding the people he is close to, like I’m sure he will be with his team members,” he glanced over at Eames, wondering if the Forger was going to move. He had been hoping that Eames would bridge the painful gap that had been created during the split, the Forger much more likely than the extremely-private Arthur. “And, in turn, he showed that you can be very dedicated to your work yet always consider and remain protective of the people you keep close.”

 

“I never said that when we talked,” Eames mumbled, sounding as though he was still struggling to figure out what was happening.

 

“You should know by now that not everything needs to be put into words for someone to know it’s true,” he reminded both of them, hoping to jolt them into action. He wished he had the magic words to fix this for his two new team members, since he was the one who had put them into this situation. But he remembered Mal’s advice and decided that it was his last hope, because they were headed towards disaster as they were now. “But I can see that you both need some time to talk things over in private. Eames, you already have your room key and Arthur, here’s yours,” he forced a prepared key card into his Point Man’s hand. “You have some time to sort things out and get accustomed to the city, but two days from now I want you both ready to start working on our first job together.”

 

Dom led them both towards the door and pushed them out into the hall before they could protest; though they looked too shocked to say much anyway. He put one final prayer into Mal’s advice as he pressed his ear against the closed door, listening with bated breath. There was a long, heavy silence, and then Eames spoke hesitantly. “Come on, my room is already set up.” Dom sighed in relief when he heard two muffled pairs of feet head towards the elevator.

 

He began an unhealthy habit of pacing around the room, worried over the state of his new team. He hoped silently that his wife’s suggestion had been the right one, and that he wouldn’t receive a phone call from hotel security in a few hours regarding one or two dead bodies. Dom was also desperate for Mal to return so that he would not have to suffer through this uncertainty alone. It would also be relieving to know that they had the chemicals they needed on schedule, though he wasn’t concerned about Mal’s persuasive capabilities.

 

However, she did not return back to the hotel and he did not receive any distressing phone calls, so he kept himself occupied. Dom skimmed through some books Miles had pushed into his arms the last time they had visited, but he found it difficult to focus on the words and soon gave up due to frustration. He eventually ended up dragging one of the armchairs up beside the wall of widows to watch the bustling cityscape, occasionally being productive by jotting down some notes about the upcoming job when the thoughts came to him.

 

The sound of the door falling open dragged him from his fretting and he turned to watch the entryway as Mal stepped into view. Not hotel security; that was good. Dom stood up immediately and swept the undoubtedly heavy silver case from Mal’s fingers so that she could shed her jacket. “How did it go? He asked conversationally as he carefully set the case down on the bare coffee table, deftly undoing the various locks and safeguards.

 

“A misunderstanding,” Mal smiled innocently as she ducked out of view to hang her jacket up in the hall closet. “Easily fixed.”

 

“I’m sure,” Dom snorted lightly, pulling the lid open slowly. He brushed his fingers over the cushioned lining keeping the glass bottles safe, before examining each label. His eyebrows furrowed, though, when he noticed two slimmer bottles tucked against the edge with labels in a faded scrawl that looked like Latin. “Don’t tell me this is what I think it is,” he breathed.

 

“Alright, I won’t,” Mal giggled playfully, crossing the room to watch him as he delicately extracted one of the bottles from the case and scrutinized it in the sunlight. It glimmered in the light, looking like someone had melted a bar of gold and funnelled it into the bottle. That was the origin of the name, of course – _Liquid Gold_, it was known as in their profession. Between the appearance, its scarcity, and the monetary value it possessed, the name seemed fitting.

 

It was a rare chemical in the field, due to the mess of ingredients required and the fact that, last he heard, there were only three people who knew the recipe. It was a dangerous life for those brewers – people were unlikely to kill you lest the recipe get lost, but you could bet on people coming along every few years to try to torture the recipe out of you – which made _Liquid Gold_ even harder to obtain. It was especially valuable though because of what one small drop added to the normal compounds could do...

 

He was distracted from his thoughts when he saw Mal smirk proudly. “How did you get this?” The two small bottles, only 50mL each, were worth more than he and Mal had made in their last two years of dream work combined. “People would kill for this.”

 

Mal clicked her tongue disapprovingly and pulled the bottle from his fingers to return it to the cushioned case. “Nobody died today.” She must have seen his disbelieving look because she scoffed, still in the process of locking the case up again to be slipped into their safe. “Jackson isn’t a brewer; he just had a few spare bottles lying around. He said it was a token to show his regret over the...misunderstanding.”

 

“Mal,” he spoke harshly, making sure to catch her attention. “This is serious. There are people who would come after us for this.”

 

“Calm down.” Dom’s muscles relaxed under Mal’s expert touch against his will. “Jackson isn’t coming after us and no one else knows. We’ll get through this job and then relocate to find a new chemist. Speaking of,” she circled behind him, fingers still working. “How are Eames and Arthur doing?”

 

Dom opened his mouth, about to admit he had no clue about the state of their team members, when the phone rang. Their eyes met for a moment before Dom crossed the room quickly to pick up the hotel phone. “Hello?”

 

“_Hi Cobb, it’s Arthur_,” his Point Man spoke across the phone, sounding uneasy but forcing confidence.

 

“Hi Arthur,” he waved Mal off when she made a move for the phone, “What can I do for you?”

 

 “_Well...I was hoping to talk with you about--_”

 

“_Oh, is that room service_?” The unmistakeable lilt of a chipper English accent cut Arthur off. Dom felt his lips curling upward slowly. “_Get us some pasta, would you darling_?”

 

“_Shut up, Eames!_” Arthur’s voice was slightly faded, probably turned away from the phone to yell at the other man. The Point Man sounded mortified and Dom’s smile grew.

 

“_And get some red wine too, this fancy bottle listed here_,” Eames’s voice grew louder. Dom could picture the Forger crossing the room to join Arthur on the bed by the phone.

 

“_Be quiet or I will murder—mfph!_” Arthur’s threat was promptly cut off by the unmistakeable sound of lips meeting. A quiet moan seemed to creep up Arthur’s throat before the sound of forcibly-detached lips – via an expert strike with a leather-bound room service binder - crossed through the phone. “_I hate you!_”

 

“_No you don’t; you adore me_.” Dom could do nothing but shake his head, disbelieving that he was sitting here, Mal standing curiously beside him, listening to this conversation. “_Oh, don’t give me that look, pet! It’s room service; I’m sure they’ve heard plenty worse._”

 

“_It’s not room service!_” Arthur huffed, “_It’s Cobb!_”

 

Dom heard the distinct sound of muffled laughter. He was busy holding a hand over his own mouth, trying to stifle the sound of his own laughter. “_Oh shit, sorry Cobb!_” Eames yelled into the phone, laughing loudly. “_Sorry, love_,” Dom heard the Forger speak more softly to Arthur.

 

There was a short moment of expectant silence. “_Must you look at me like that when I’m on the phone with our employer?_” Arthur pleaded, Dom all but forgotten now. There was a grudging sigh and then another quick sound of lips meeting. “_There, now will you please stop giving me that look?_”

 

Eames chuckled warmly, still close to the phone. “_Anything for you, darling_.”

 

There was another long sigh and the sound of feet padding away. “_I’m sorry, Dom_,” Arthur cleared his throat, clearly embarrassed.

 

Dom cleared his own throat, doing his best to force down his continued laughter. He was grinning though, Arthur and Eames sounding like reunited childhood sweethearts – incredibly affectionate and content. “It’s alright, Arthur,” he finally managed to get out, knowing the Point Man would not appreciate further laughter.

 

“_We were hoping we could share a room. We figured it would save you some money_,” Arthur offered hesitantly, probably still cautious and concerned about Dom accepting the obvious romantic coupling the Forger and Point Man shared.

 

“I think that can be arranged,” he conceded happily. He tried to keep it simple to save Arthur from further embarrassment but make his words sound warm; he wanted Arthur to know for certain that he was comfortable accepting them as a couple.

 

“_Great_,” Arthur breathed, sounding relieved. “_Thank you--_”

 

“_Thanks, Cobb,_” Eames spoke into the receiver, having most likely snatched the phone from Arthur’s grip. “_We figured it made sense. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to enjoy my two days off with my Point Man_.”

 

“Enjoy,” was all he could say as he heard Arthur’s warning growl and Eames’s burst of overjoyed laughter before the phone went dead. He set the handle down again slowly, smiling with pleased exasperation. Mal was standing in front of him by this point, arms crossed expectantly with one perfectly shaped eyebrow raised in question. Dom sat back on the mattress, relaxed, still barely holding in his laughter. “We have a team.”

**Author's Note:**

> **You can check out [here](http://onewhositswiththeturtles.tumblr.com/) to follow my Tumblr for info about me and story updates.**


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